A Summer of Sunsets
by lostecho1125
Summary: AU. From separate lives, two grieving souls find the strength to comfort one another during the most difficult of times. *This is an Olitz story dedicated to multipleshadesofpurple who introduced me to the show, the pairing, and encouraged me to write this.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: Worlds Apart**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Prologue, "Worlds Apart"_

**8:30 a.m. EST in Brooklyn, NY**

**August 1****st****, 2003…**

It was an unusually warm summer for the northeast, but the recently released school children couldn't have cared less as they filled the streets of the neighborhood with high-pitched laughter.

Unable to help a smile, Olivia Pope turned away from the scene on the street as she finished raising the windows on the second floor of her brownstone. As she carefully sipped her red wine her thoughts began to reflect on how quickly this summer vacation was passing. Smirking to herself bittersweetly, she had to admit that it was mainly referred to as "vacation" by her students. Not many members of the faculty at the prestigious private school she worked for ever referred to those quick summer months as "vacation". For many of them it was hardly much more than a "break" in the madness.

_And you wouldn't trade it for all the gold in Fort Knox_. She admonished herself with a wry grin. Olivia had been teaching since she was 22 years old, all through her B.A. and first Master's Degree. The challenge was something that she found almost as rewarding as the act of teaching itself. After moving to the NY area and beginning her tenure-track at The Masters School, she had begun to feel as though the hardships she'd endured in life may just have been worth it.

Sipping from her glass again, she came back farther into the bedroom of the quiet brownstone, and her eyes rested on the pile of opened mail she'd been going through earlier. On the top of said pile rested two unopened letters. One envelope was neatly stamped with the official stationary of the New York Military Academy and the other was a plain pale blue with only a small dark blue colored embossed insignia on the upper left corner. Olivia would've recognized the red, radiating compass inside a white shield even if she'd had her eyes closed.

The former, she was sure, was the usual correspondence from her beloved father, Rowan, probably another invitation to spend a few weeks of the summer back home just in time for the family reunion they always held at the end of August. That "family" being the various members of the CIA that her father worked with. Olivia grinned at the thought of her father carefully penning the letter with a quill and fresh India ink; Rowan Pope was nothing if not old fashioned, firmly believing that the world's technological advancements – which he sued daily – were meant for everything except letter writing. She was sure the man had never typed nor emailed in the place of a personal letter in his entire life.

Chuckling to herself at that, Olivia sat at the edge of her bed, still holding the glass of chilled wine. Her smile faded somewhat, when her dark, sparkling eyes shifted and landed on that other letter. Bringing her glass up to sip, her gaze never left it, as she visually burned a hole through that cloudy-blue envelope embossed with the insignia of the U.S. Air Force. _What could You possibly have to say to me, after all this time?_

With a heavy sigh, she reached for her father's letter, sliding it out from beneath the AF envelope. At the moment, she really didn't want to spoil the pleasant morning she was having, so whatever was contained in that envelope would remain there for at least one more afternoon.

Delicately opening her father's carefully penned letter, Olivia confirmed her initial belief of his intent, admiring the beautiful script of the hand-written invite to the Pope "family" reunion. It was a tradition nearing its first decade – one that Rowan Pope had painstakingly nurtured to be of a prime importance among the diversified group he'd taught and those he'd adopted as his mentees over the years. They were more than simply fellow students at his successful academy in Westchester County.

Carefully setting the invite down beside her, Liv picked up her cordless phone beside the bed, pressing the first stored number that was in her phone's memory. She'd suddenly had an overwhelming need to hear his voice.

After only a single ring (of course, he had known) the line was picked up, and his deep, melodic voice spoke clearly, "Hello, Olivia."

She smiled, sighing as she felt comforted immediately. "Hi dad."

**16:25 hrs. Fort Hamilton Army Base near NYC**

**August 13****th****, 2003…**

Private First Class Benjamin Campbell raced down the halls of the military base, his spindly brown arms pumping in time with his legs as they carried him through the corridors. The cell phone in his hand nearly slipped a couple of times as the sweat from his clammy palms counteracted the grip he had on the device.

Usually a pretty busy place, for some eerie reason there was no one in the halls for him to trample, which was lucky for the twenty year old because way, _way_ in the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn't be gong quite so fast, but under the circumstances, he didn't care. _Gotta find 'im…!_

His squeaky, military-issue Oxfords gleamed and twinkled in the fluorescent light of the halls, and their rhythmic tapping against linoleum was the only accompaniment to his panting breath and thumping heart.

As Campbell rounded the next corner, his frantic eyes darted back and forth between the numbered doors to either side of him, desperately seeking one in particular all the while dreading the moment he'll inevitably find it. After passing roughly six or seven sets of doors, he came to an abrupt, skidding halt before one marked '1122-Conference', and didn't so much as knock before roughly twisting the knob and barreling through.

Inside the small, dimly-lit conference room, the gathered group of men and women all looked up with surprised alarm. They were all Officers, their varying ranks clearly visible on their uniforms, and evidently had been in the middle of some extremely important – and confidential – material, as the man standing at the head of the conference table angrily slapped off the portable projector which had previously displayed a map's image on the silk screen set up at the front of the room. "Private! What the hell're you doing busting up in here like that, son!"

Private First Class Campbell straightened himself immediately, standing rigidly erect and eyes forward as he quickly saluted the Marine Corps Officers before him. It was only the gesture of respect he gave, his concern obviously elsewhere. He tried not to look any of them in the eye, knowing his ass was in hot water. "_Sir!_ Excuse the interruption, General Ackens, Sir!"

As the other Officers grumbled beneath their breaths, quickly confiscating confidential papers into folders and briefs and shooting Campbell daggers, the General stepped around the table, closing the distance between them with such speed Campbell had been unsure for a moment if the man intended to stop before trampling him. None noticed one of the Officers hadn't moved an inch since the young man's entrance, his blue eyes wide and watching the young Private closely.

"Well, speak up, Marine," General Ackens towered about the 6' tall young man at an impressive 6'5', "what've you go to say for yourself? I ought to have your ass tossed in the brig –"

Behind them, a deep voice broke the air. "The boy's with me, Ackens."

The General turned quickly as Campbell's expression was one of guarded relief. "_What?"_

The man sitting at the conference table looked at the General with weary eyes, his expression more dark and solemn than anyone would've thought possible. Even for him.

"What is it, kid?" The man transferred his gaze to Campbell, who took that as his cue to come forward,. Stopping with a good two to three feet between them, Campbell extended his hand, holding out the cell phone.

"Sir, it's urgent! I came to get you, just like you said –"

"Grant, what the blue fuck is going on?" General Ackens had obviously had enough of the subterfuge. "The whole point of this meeting was that _no one was supposed to know_, and here you are telling Privates?"

Ben Campbell swallowed hard, his brown eyes wide as he looked up at his superior. "Colonel Grant, it's your wife. I've got her on hold."

The General bit back whatever it was he was about to say as the small gathering of Officers suddenly came quiet. Colonel Fitzgerald Grant _never _took personal calls while on duty. He refused to even carry the cell phone the Private was now handing him. When the Colonel was on duty (but then, when wasn't he?), nothing else mattered. He'd been like that since General Ackens had first met the man. What in all hell could it be that was important enough he'd interrupt their mission briefing?

Grant flipped the Samsung SPH-i500 open and took the line off hold, bringing it up to his ear automatically. His voice barely breathed into the speaker, "Mellie?"

The first sounds he heard were of background noise, someone speaking a P.A. system, and pieces of garbled conversation. For a moment he thought she wasn't on the line anymore. After another second, he heard her raspy sigh as she collected herself to speak.

"Fitz, hurry! It's Karen. She needs you."

Barely able to control his hand's tremble, Grant gulped forcefully before he spoke quickly, "I'm on my way."

Ben Campbell was hot on the Colonel's heels as the two men headed to the exit. Behind them, General Ackens hesitated before he called out, "Grant! Where in the hell are you going? We're in the middle of –"

Fitz shook his head, turning just briefly to make eye contact with the General.

"Fuck it, Jase. _It's my kid._"


	2. Chapter 2

**Always Something There to Remind Me, pt. 1**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 1, "Always Something There to Remind Me, pt. 1"_

**Long Island, New York**

**June 11, 2004…**

The black limousine pulled away from the ferry drop-off slowly and eventually picked up speed as it headed toward the Hamptons. The smooth ride was even further quieted since there was but one solitary figure in the cab.

Olivia Pope sat rigidly in the middle of the limo's rear cab, her eyes downcast and forlorn as she watched the terrain pass outside. Unconsciously, she chewed her lip as her fingers grasped a cluster of papers decorated lightly around the edges. She hadn't looked at the stationary for almost a week, but she'd already memorized their contents from a single read…

_May 5, 2004_

"_My Dear Olivia,_

_First, please accept Rowan's most sincere apologies. It seems as though even the most relaxing of tasks sometimes zaps his quickly depleted energy, but he wished for me to relay to you it was not his intent to have me pen this letter. As you can well imagine, it has been extremely difficult for him to have to rely so much on others – even me. But, enough of that. I'm sure you were not expecting to open this letter to read about how stubborn your father can be, so I will get to the point with no further delay._

_As you know, the annual Pope Institute and family reunion is quickly approaching this year, and normally Rowan would be sending out his laboriously hand-written invitations, as he was able to do last summer._

_Unfortunately, Rowan's health has not been at its best, as I understand you know, and after a bevy of tests and procedures, his doctor believes he knows the primary cause. _

_I deeply regret both the nature of this letter as well as the fact that Rowan does not wish for me to go into specifics; he hopes you understand that – upon your arrival to the estate – he will make these issues clear and answer any questions/concerns he's sure you are to have._

_Please do not be alarmed at the vagueness of my letter; Rowan wished to keep you apprised of everything in his life, but unfortunately his poor health of late has prevented this. Rest assured, he would rather see you and speak in person, and is quite excited about this year's Reunion, as it represents the tenth anniversary of our special little familial gatherings._

_Hence, it is imperative that you are able to attend this year's festivities. While I realize your extensive schedule at the school occupies a great deal of your time, I sincerely ask that you please make arrangements to see your father this year at the reunion._

_Rowan sends his warmest regards and we both look forward to your arrival. _

_Best Wishes and I shall see you soon,_

_Lena."_

Sighing deeply, Olivia suddenly folded the pages of stationary neatly together and jammed them back into the envelope stamped with the Pope Institute logo – the Military Academy Rowan had founded had slowly turned into a sprawling boarding school for underprivileged children.

Even with them physically out of touch, Lena Pope's words still reverberated through her mind. The funny thing was she hadn't needed those cryptic words to begin to clue her in that something wasn't quite right with Rowan Pope. The weekly phone calls she'd enjoyed from her father had silently drifted away, becoming farther and farther apart, and when they did manage to catch each other, it usually wasn't for very long, as Rowan seemed to tire quickly these days.

Of course, Liv had chalked it all up to the insurmountable stress he endured from his duties over the Institute and establishing the new school in Massachusetts to the frequent trips he made to Kenya, where he'd picked up his mantle of U.N. Ambassador and liaison once again to try to help the suffering people there. It was reasonable, she consoled herself, that a man her father's age would not be able to keep that hectic pace for long.

So, it had come as some surprise those few months ago, when he'd contacted her, and eventually got around to mentioning the bevy of tests and procedures Rowan's doctor, Charles MaCovy had planned. With Olivia's frantic schedule at The Masters School – what with finals and end of the term paperwork weighing her down – it was too easy to allow her own problems to smother her, and so the follow-up on her dad went unchecked for several weeks.

Smoothing a thick lock of dark hair out of her eyes, Olivia silently admitted to herself that there was more than a chance she could've distanced herself purposely…after all, Rowan Pope was everything to her; father, mentor, friend, confidant. His face was the earliest memory she could recall, from that traumatic experience she suffered at the tender age of five…

Blinking rapidly, Olivia shook her head vigorously to clear it, feeling the subtle skip in her heartbeat and the tightness in her throat. The claustrophobic symptoms were, often time, all that remained of her memories from the day her birth mother and stepfather died in Cairo, Egypt. Several times in her youth she had pleaded with Rowan, begging him to take her to a hypnotist to peel back the layers of her fragile mind, and expose the memory her own mind refused to recall, but couldn't allow Olivia to escape. Each time, Rowan gently let her down, insisting it was up to her to divulge that memory. He refused to seek outside help.

For a while, the decision had been such a bone of contention between father and daughter, until Olivia realized the truth of Rowan's words, and decided to stop pursuing a painful memory of an event she couldn't possibly hope to alter.

But that was years ago. Olivia was past all that, and realized how thankful she truly was for the life she could remember. The friends, all students had the Institute her father had founded, she cherished as deeply as she loved Rowan. The need for a "traditional" family with parents and siblings who physically resembled her was quickly replaced with a thankful heart…and friends who were more siblings than friends. There were many, many orphans in the world at that very moment who would never in their young, short and painful existences know even a small portion of the comfort, stability or love Olivia had received from Rowan and the assorted flavors that represented the "Pope" family. The first time Rowan had taken her to Kenya, she'd realized this…

"Miss? We're coming up on the estate momentarily."

Olivia's head snapped up in attention and she jumped slightly at the driver's voice through the intercom. Leaning to her left, she laid a finger on the reply button, pressing gently. "Thank you, Martin."

Once again in silence, Liv settled back against the firm, leather interior, hugging herself tightly for a moment. The slight butterflies fluttering around her belly were enough of a distraction; she could stop focusing on what it was Rowan needed to see her for to tell her. The anxious feeling she'd been nursing since boarding the ferry to Long Island had very little to do with that, after all.

Almost against her will, Olivia reached down into her carry-on case for the slightly plump bundle of unopened letters she'd hastily stacked and bound together with a large rubber band. For more than a year now, she'd withstood the urge to see what they contained, firmly believing in the adage of 'out of sight, out of mind'. For some reason (that she rather not consider too deeply) she was unable to simply throw them away. The still crisp edges of the pale blue envelopes winked at her devilishly, as if they could gauge her curiosity. Liv cast a disapproving glance at them, scowling at the silent reminder of the person they represented.

_It's alright, Liv, _she told herself, stuffing the bundle in her windbreaker's pocket and hardening herself against the memories those unopened letters conjured. _Soon enough, he can have them back, and it'll be all over with. If he can't move on, then you'll just have to leave him behind, won't you?_

**About 30 Minutes Later…**

Martin, the chauffer, smoothly brought the car to a stop at the front of the beachside estate, and scrambled around to the back where Olivia thanked him for opening her door. As he began unloading her luggage, a few of the servants came down from the house to help with her things. She didn't question how they knew she'd arrived as she stepped away from the car and glanced up the slight incline to the front porch entrance.

Behind her dark sunglasses, her eyes brightened at the sight of her step-mother, Lena Pope, who stood beside one of the Romanesque columns supporting the porch. She easily returned Liv's smile, and then suddenly twisted her head back toward the opened front door as if she'd heard her name called. After several seconds, Rowan Pope appeared, stroking the wheels on his chair as he pulled himself forward. Olivia's breath caught in her throat the frail sight of her father, forced to a wheelchair.

His eyes sparkled when they met hers, and he seemed visibly more relaxed just at the sight of her.

"It's good to see you again, Olivia." Lena reached down, taking her free hand to help her up the steps. She smiled graciously, dropping the carry-on and hugging Lena to her tightly.

"Likewise, Lena." She pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead and turned to Rowan, who was patiently waiting his turn.

Rowan gazed up at his daughter with a father's love, watching her as she crossed the couple of feet distancing them and knelt before his chair, which put her eye level just below his.

The two leaned closer, until their foreheads just met, and Olivia closed her eyes with a soft sigh, enjoying the soothing presence of his voice as he spoke. "Have a good trip?"

She nodded just barely. "Mm. It was a pleasant ride over. I haven't taken the ferry in some time."

"Good, good. Many of our other guests are already here, so I thought we could have dinner together, tonight…"

"Just like we used to." Her voice overlapped his and they both chuckled. Liv slipped her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly as she buried her face against his chest. Rowan stroked her long-bound ponytail and lightly laid a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Welcome home."

**A Short While Later**, as the hired help continued their daunting tasks of preparing the night's meal, Olivia settled into the top floor room she'd favored as a young girl. It was one of the larger rooms in the house with an impressive balcony that faced the Atlantic.

She hurried to unpack her belongings, thinking that she'd go find Rowan before dinner. The letter Lena had written her only a couple of months before still lingered in the back of her mind, and she was curious as to what he'd seemingly wanted to say, but felt restrained not to divulge.

Before she could focus too much on that train of thought, a light knock sound at the door a la "_shave and a haircut_", disrupting her. Olivia stood up from the sitting position she'd held before the large armoire in the room, and stretched on her way to the door. "Hold on…"

Bright green eyes twinkled beneath dark auburn and blonde locks, and Liv returned the wicked grin as Marcella Martin leaned in to give her a hug. The two women chuckled and Liv pulled Marcella's arm, leading her inside before she shut the door.

"Well, _shit-in-chitlins_, you came!"

"Yeah, I guess I could manage to make it this time." Olivia returned to her unpacking as the energetic southern belle made a bee-line for the bed, pouncing on the soft mattress before stretching out completely. She ignored Olivia's snickers as she made herself comfortable like a feline.

"You just gettin' here?"

Olivia nodded, continuing to unpack. "Yes. Just a little while ago, actually. I'm trying to finish this unpacking before dinner."

Marcella sat up, shaking her long bangs out of her eyes. She fixed Liv's back with a wry grin. "Ain'tcha glad _we _don't have t'bother with those chores anymore?"

"More than I'll ever let on," Liv responded with a short laugh, recalling the daily tasks at the Institute that accompanied their studies. "Speaking of school, how's it going?"

Marcella shrugged, sitting up enough to support herself on one elbow. "_Ugh_. Why didn't you tell me Grad School was gonna suck so hard? Shit, if I have to come up with _one more _damn thesis, I'mma punch someone."

Liv couldn't help the burst of laughter that erupted from her.

"_Marcella!_" She chastised, trying not to continue laughing, but failing miserably. As she eventually sobered, she was glad to see her younger stepsister had come to terms with her need to attend college enough to joke about it.

"_What?"_ The younger woman rolled onto her belly, giving her sister what was supposed to pass for an innocent expression.

"You are just horrible." Olivia laughed, getting up with a precarious armful of toiletries and heading for her bathroom. While she arranged her things just to her liking, she raised her voice so Marcella could still hear.

"Oh! I got your last video mail, by the way. I hate to be the voice of 'I told you so', but didn't I warn you about trusting that Swamp Rat?"

Marcella grunted, distracted, as she came over to the armoire where Liv's bags littered the floor. She gave herself a once-over in the vanity's mirror beside the armoire, fixing her hair. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

"Don't you _yeah, yeah_ me…"

"Big Sis was right, okay? It's not like ah didn't know the boy was incapable 'a commitment. Ah jus' thought he'd try a lit'l harder with _me _is all…" Marcella's voice trailed off as she caught sight of the fat left pocket on Liv's windbreaker. She didn't hesitate to lift the garment off of its resting place on the vanity's chair, and reach one manicured hand inside.

From the bathroom, Liv could be heard tsking several times. "What'd I tell you? I've known Christophe longer than anyone. The guy's been one of my best friends for years, and I love him like the rotten little brother he pretends to be, but boyfriend-material, sadly, he is not."

"Hm-hmm." Marcella half-responded, unbinding the thick packet of letters and sifting through them one at a time, her beautiful green eyes widening with each one.

Still inside the bathroom, Liv was finishing straightening her things and about to come out for the rest. As she visually inspected the room to her satisfaction, she called out, "Do you know where he's run off to this time? I ought to give that boy a kick in the ass, treating my sister like that…Marcella? Marcella?"

As Olivia came to the door of the bathroom, Marcella suddenly appeared right before her, waving the letters before Liv's nose. "An' just when were you gonna tell me 'bout _these_? Hm?"

On instinct, Olivia grabbed the envelopes, but Marcella wasn't about to let them – or the subject – go. "What are you doing with those?"

"Answer the question, Liv. How long have ya had these? Looks like the guy's been writin' ya every friggin' month for the past two damn years –"

"I didn't _mention_ it," Olivia yanked the envelopes toward her, "because it's not important. Come on, Marcella. Hand them over."

Shrugging, the younger sister let the other posses the letters, but she clearly wasn't done with the topic. As Olivia headed back to replace them in the windbreaker, Marcella followed, a darkly humorous twinkle in her eyes.

"It's not important. Hmph! And don't think ah didn't notice none o'em were opened. Yer not even curious?"

"Absolutely not," Olivia lied.

"Damn, you can hold a grudge, sugah."

"I am _not _holding a grudge." Olivia roughly crammed them in the jacket, crumpling a few of the envelopes in the process. She turned back to gauge Marcella with cool, brown eyes. "I'd have to actually give a shit, first."

Crossing her arms tightly, Marcella looked at her sister hard. She knew when Olivia started using swear words that she was at least slightly rumpled. "Ya know, dad invited _his _father over tonight for dinner."

Picking through the rest of her toiletries, Olivia nodded nonchalantly. "Of course. I plan on returning those letters through _him_."

"Oh , don't bother…" Olivia's hands froze as Marcella's chipper tone continued, "_Your former Prince Charming is comin' too."_

**About 4 miles away, father down the beach…**

The big black and silver-accented Crown Victoria was packed at an odd angle in front of the large beach house. The man in the driver's seat drummed his fingers methodically, and every ninety seconds or so checked his watch. _It shouldn't be taking this long…_

As the man shifted in his car seat uncomfortably, a single figure stood outside the darkened house's back door, which faced the pristine Southampton beach. Clutching the thick wad of folded legal brief in one hand, the woman raised her fist again and rapped on the door, much harder than the first dozen times. After still receiving no answer, she grimaced, then quickly looked around herself, ensuring no one was watching, before placing her ear to the glass. In the few moments of silence, the breeze blowing off the ocean waved her shoulder-length chestnut locks, then allowed them to come to rest over the carefully pressed lapels of her suit jacket.

It was enough time to discern what she'd needed to know, and with only another half second's pause, she dug her key ring out of her pocket and sifted through the dozen or so keys on it before she found the one she sought.

_Alright then, if you're going to make things difficult, so be it. _She thought as she opened the door and stepped inside the small rear foyer between the back porch and kitchen.

As she came into the kitchen, she noticed the lights were all out, and the late afternoon shadows cast an even more unsettling feeling around the seemingly quiet adobe, save the television playing in the background. With saddened, yet determined eyes, she looked around at the squalor her ex-husband was living in; dirty dishes at least a couple weeks old littered the sinks and counters, smelling horribly; the cabinets and drawers had mostly all been pulled out and emptied of their contents, and all kinds of trash littered the floor, making it all but impossible to take two consecutive steps without hitting something. All at once, she was unsure whether or not she wanted to see the rest of the once-beautiful summer home she'd been so glad to retreat to. The kitchen alone looked like a warzone, so she could only imagine what the rest looked like.

Pausing by the island in the middle of the formerly impressive kitchen, she carefully picked up the jagged remains of a glass picture frame. As she lifted it up and turned it toward her face, pieces of glass tinkled to the floor at her feet, where she didn't notice the slashed remains of other photographs. Her lovely blue eyes widened as she recognized the photo. Even though it had suffered through quite a beating (and maybe even a little fire?) she could still make out her own face smiling back at her as she held onto her ex-husband and the giggling little ball of energy between them.

_Ohh…Fitz…_

She fought the tightness in her throat at seeing the image and carefully laid the battered picture and frame on the cluttered counter. For a long moment, she just stood there, as a gamut of emotions fueled by memories washed over her. As she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the childish laughter and squeals of joy that had filled the house not so long ago, before everything went so totally wrong. It was these memories of an innocent, beautiful young life that kept her going at times. She refused to let them sadden her; it wouldn't be right to Karen's memory. If only Fitz could feel the same way…

Taking a heavy breath, she opened her eyes.

"What are you doing in here?"

She gasped, despite herself, and wondered how he'd managed to creep so silently into the messy room. The thought was quickly forgotten; however, as she peered closely at her ex. His physical appearance matched that of the room they stood in, his usually well-styled hair reaching new and disturbing levels of disorder and appearing as though it hadn't seen soap and water in a while. The grungy _off _white tank-tee he wore was tattered and beaten as the man himself. He'd had to tighten the drawstring on the dark, charcoal sweatpants, but they were still sort of slack on his narrow hips, which told her despite the mess of the kitchen, he hadn't eaten properly in some time. She saw all this in a matter of moments, but kept her gaze from meeting his.

"Fitz, this pl –"

"_I said, _what are you doing in here?" His voice was an even tone and only she would know to have fear of it.

Forcing herself to swallow (damn, her throat was dry) she reached for the picture again, but her delicate fingers halted abruptly when she heard the low growl from across the room. Still refusing to meet his eyes, she hesitated, then reached for the papers she'd brought instead, which were tucked underneath her other arm.

"I, uh, came to give you this. I didn't see the point in subjecting anymore paralegals to your abuse, so I came myself."

His strained, wild eyes locked on the blue-backed legal document she held out, then up at her face, which was still turned away.

"What's that?" He gritted out roughly between clenched teeth.

Still holding her arm out, she said, "_This_, Fitz, is it. The end. You can stay here and self-destruct in this dilapidated house for as long as you want; I just can't stand by and watch any longer. I _won't._"

When he still refused to take the papers, she lightly tossed it between them on the counter. His stormy blue eyes twitched between her and those papers as she looked anywhere but at him.

"So that's it, eh Mellie? Couldn't 'fix' me, so you're giving up for good? Just like that?"

She stared at him, wide eyed and truly thought he'd lost his mind. "I guess you've conveniently forgotten about the past _eight _years, Fitz, and that you've wanted an end to this just as long as I have. Not to mention the fact that I've been the _only_ –" She stopped, realizing this argument was exactly what he wanted, and took a calming breath before she changed her tactics.

"You know what? I'm not doing this again. I've come to accept my role in all this; I suggest you do the same, so you can begin to move on."

"_Move on_?" His tone was suddenly caustic and she was sure if he could've burned her with it, he would have. The anger behind his words would've struck her like a physical blow, if she hadn't already prepared herself for it, mentally.

Thinking to dissipate his quickly escalating rage, she began to turn to reason with him, when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that his posture had changed drastically. "F-Fitz –"

She began backing away, back toward the way she'd come and he quickly advanced on her, roughly over-turning chairs and boxes in his path. "Move on? _MOVE ON_?"

She realized she had backed out of the kitchen and to the foyer, when her back struck the wall next to the door and before she could turn toward it, with the door opened just barely, he was there, slamming it back against the frame so hard she thought it would bend back through.

"How the hell am I supposed to do that? Huh?" His alcohol-stained breath blew her hair away from her face as he screamed at her.

She grimaced, closing her eyes tightly through the tirade. She didn't want to have to hurt him, but if Fitz didn't calm himself – or at least give her a couple of feet of personal space – she'd be forced to defend herself. "Fitz, calm down!"

"Well? What's the answer, Mellie? You thought you were so damned smart to 'fix' what was _wrong_ with me –"

"Stop it!" She turned her face to him, for the first time meeting his gaze. Her heart was immediately crushed, as she recognized those pain-filled blue eyes that had always reminded her so much of their daughter. "Fitz…Stop…_just stop!_"

He watched her slowly slide down to the floor, tears coursing down her cheeks. Even then, he could feel nothing but rage, contempt, and distrust. Backing a step away, he continued to breathe shallowly as he seethed with hatred. He knew deep (deep, deep) down that it couldn't be her he hated. True, their marriage had effectively been over long before Karen got sick that last time, but even he'd willingly agreed to stay together, as their only child fought for every breath she took, slowly dying…killed by her own father.

"Mellie…" His voice was barely above a whisper as he fixed his gaze on her once more. "Just leave. Just…"

She choked back her tears as silence reigned between them. Standing on unsteady legs, she hesitated a moment, looking at his defeated posture.

He didn't look at her as he fumbled with her coat, then his eyes fluttered closed when he heard the soft _clink_ of her house key hit the table before she turned and disappeared. As the silence came again, he sighed, looking at the island counter. Dismissively he flipped open the legal envelope, and nodded, not surprised at all. That made sense, why all those little pencil-necked jerk-offs had kept coming by all those months, insisting he open the door.

Fitz wasn't ashamed to admit he'd taken some perverse pleasure in scaring the daylights out of them, and was exceptionally…proud?...when one of them – most likely a newbie, poor kid – had literally pissed himself at the sight of the silver pistol, aimed directly at his bifocals.

Even that was but a small consolation to the black, smothering feeling that seemingly occupied his every waking moment. With a heavy sigh, he tossed the official document terminating his marriage over his shoulder to land on the floor with the rest of his shattered life, and left the room.

**Out at the road, **Mellie hurried back to the car waiting for her and slid inside, rubbing at her bleary eyes. As she buckled herself in, the man beside her leaned forward, catching a glimpse of her agitated state.

"Mellie? What happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine –"

"That bastard didn't hurt you, did he? I swear –"

"_I said I'm fine!_" She snapped, more harshly than intended, then said softly, "Please, Andrew, just drive."

He clamped his mouth shut and put the car in gear, pulling away from the curb. Beside him, Mellie leaned into the door of the car, her red-rimmed eyes staring hard at the rearview mirror's reflection of the quickly retreating beach house. She couldn't help but think she was abandoning the man she'd once sworn vows to, and in his deepest hour of need.

"Come on, Mellie," Andrew grasped her hand tightly and, as if reading her mind, continued, "You can't help someone who doesn't want it."

"I know." Was all she said quietly, not sure if she believed it even as the words escaped her lips. Swallowing a sob, she sighed deeply, thinking, _God help him, I know._

_Thank you to all of my readers, especially valkel00 and Wheels2. Your reviews were wonderful! I hope all of you are enjoying this and I would love to hear what you think, so far. Until next time - Mae_


	3. Chapter 3

**Always Something There to Remind Me, part 2**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 2: "Always Something There to Remind Me", pt. 2_

**Southampton Beach, Long Island, New York**

**June 11, 2004**

Helena Duvahl waddled through the front foyer to the door, wiping her hands on her apron quickly before reaching out for the knob. "Good evening, sir; please come in."

She stepped aside with a wide sweep of her hand, and the man nodded, stepping over the threshold. As he passed her, he removed his cap, and came to a stop a few feet inside the foyer.

"Thank you, Helena. Are Rowan and Lena about?"

She nodded, beginning to close the door, but a strong hand reached out from the other side, clasping its fingers around the doorframe. Helena gasped quietly, turning back to the door.

"Oh! Excuse me, sir."

The first man smiled to dissipate her embarrassment, and then turned to the younger man as he also removed his military-issue cap upon entering.

"Ah, don't worry about the lad, Helena. He's quite alright, aren't you son?"

The younger man smiled down at Helena, giving her one of his most dashing grins before he unconsciously adjusted his AF suit beneath the dark trench coat that matched his father's.

"Aye, sir."

"Of course…May I take your coats?" She reached out as the older of the two gentlemen shrugged out of his.

The younger one waved a hand negatively. "No, thanks, Helena. I'm fine for now."

"Mmm! Dinner smells lovely, Helena." The father turned his dazzling smile toward the woman, winking. "Watch it, or you'll find yourself having to keep me out of those pots."

The older woman smiled, chuckling like a school girl as she led the way toward the beachside patio, where most of the other guests had already gathered for cocktails.

"Yes, sir, Lt. General, sir! Please this way."

As the distinguished AF officer tucked his cap in the crook of his arm and followed Helena, shamelessly flirting with the elderly woman, his son stepped behind them, but stopped as they were about to pass the wide staircase in the main foyer. Memories from years passed flooded his mind as he recalled the summers he'd spent here, playing tag with a certain dark-haired little playmate…

"Son? Are you coming?"

The young man snapped to attention, looking around to realize he'd slowed to a stop at the base of the double staircase. Although his feet almost carried him up the steps, he willed himself to continue out onto the patio.

"Right behind you, dad…"

**Upstairs, on the top floor…**

Marcella sat down in the vanity's chair, trying with all her might not to mess the whimsically carefree hairdo Liv had fashioned for her just minutes ago. Dressed down in a stark-white, long sleeved cotton shirt opened at the neck and a straight-hemmed cargo skirt that reached her ankles, but with a drastic split on the right side, she was too cute for words. Every once in a while she'd admire herself in the mirror, only half listening to the full-blown panic of her older sister.

Liv moved around the spacious room like a whirlwind, half the time going nowhere in particular. Behind her, Elizabeth Hamilton tried to keep up in her dark blue denim skirt and twist-tie matching shirt as she struggled to lace up the back of Liv's sundress. The two sisters and best friend were late to Rowan's party, having gone on a little too long in the "catching up" department. Normally, Liv wouldn't care at all to be fashionably late to such an informal occasion, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure there was more going on behind those sparkling eyes than their tardiness.

"Liz, I can't find my sandals. You know, the _Via Spiga's_? Do you see my sandals? I know I brought them up here…"

With an exasperated sigh, the Australian native stopped in the middle of the room, watching Liv hurry around with her dress still half-tied, her hair a royal mess and loose, and barefoot. She and Marcella exchanged knowing glances before they cornered Liv, forcing her to sit.

"Geez, all this an' she doesn't care if she ever sees this guy again?" Marcella mumbled under her breath to Elizabeth.

"I can hear that," Liv snapped, obeying as they forced her down into the vanity's chair.

"_What_?" Marcella brought over her sandals as Liz quickly finished lacing the back of the sleeveless sky-blue and white sundress.

"It's not that I _care _per se." Liv gathered her long tresses behind her so that Elizabeth could begin the elaborate French braid.

"You just want 'im to know what 'es missing, luv." Elizabeth finished for her, as a statement, not a question.

Marcella leaned against the vanity's mirror, watching Liv's face carefully. "Sugah, you'll be fine. Just take a deep breath an' remember, you're here t'have a good time."

As Elizabeth finished her hair and Liv leaned forward to insert a pair of gold earrings, she looked at the other girls' reflections in the mirror as they stood behind her chair. Smiling at them both, she felt immediately comforted.

"Thanks."

When the three dazzling women had finally gotten themselves ready, they stood at the door to Olivia's room, all of them slightly giddy with the excitement the evening promised. Olivia stroked her trademark thick wisp of loose hair away from her eyes. Closing her hand purse soundly around the thick bundle of letters, she nodded to the other women.

"Well girls, I guess it's time to go make an entrance."

**Downstairs, Outside on the Rear Deck…**

Soft music drifted out to the chatting guests as they enjoyed the beauty of the approaching sunset and an unending supply of refreshments.

As the guests freely mingled, the difference between Rowan's "adopted" students and those who'd only been his pupils, no more, at the Institute was not easily distinguished. To a certain extent, they were all family, and, as Lena Pope brought her drink to her lips, she silently applauded her husband on a job well done. Rowan had made some costly sacrifices over the years for his ever-increasing "family" as well as for the schools and other non-profit organizations he funded.

_It would be a shame_, Lena thought, _to see all of his work end up for nothing._

At the sight of Rowan rubbing his temples, Lena sat her drink down immediately. "Rowan, is everything alright?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Rowan! Lena!"

Lena looked up then to meet the jovial gaze of one of Rowan's oldest friends.

"Christopher. Glad you could make it."

Rowan turned his chair a little and rolled closer to his wife and the older man as they greeted each other. "You're looking well, Christopher. Or should I call you, _General _Ballard?"

The Lt. General's smile brought his heavy moustache up over his lip, and as he graciously accepted a shaken martini from the bartender nearby, took a quick sip before answering, "Oh! Not quite yet, I'm afraid. The promotion isn't official until August."

Rowan smiled back. "Excellent. I hope you'll be able to return for the Reunion celebration. We'll have quite a bit to celebrate, then, won't we?"

Christopher's dark brown eyes held Rowan's for a long moment, then he set his glass down, the smile gone, as he spoke in hushed tones. "Rowan. How _are _you? Are you doing alright?"

Rowan smiled, a little wistfully, as he caught sight of his doctor, Charles, and former student, Adrian Kyle, joking around next to the hors d'oeuvres table. For a moment, he didn't say anything, evidently choosing his next words carefully.

"Chris, I'm happy to be here for this. I have my friends and family so close…What man could not be joyous at a time like this?"

The Lt. General laid a hand on Rowan's shoulder, speaking quietly, "That's good, Rowan, that's good. And how are the kids taking _it?_"

Lena took a step closer, addressing Christopher. "Most of them know of Rowan's illness, and they've all agreed to do whatever they can to help and support him."

The Lt. General's dusky eyebrows came up slowly as he looked down at Rowan again. "_Most_ of them know? Rowan, who haven't you told about y –"

"Hey ya'll! Let the party begin!"

Heads turned toward the deck's door as the three women made an impressive entrance. Marcella, the youngest of the three, spread her arms wide as she made her presence known. Elizabeth and Olivia, flanking her, let the younger girl command the attention of the guests. Elizabeth hid a chuckle behind her fingers while Olivia groaned beneath her breath, looking just slightly uncomfortable.

Greetings were exchanged, as the women joined their friends Charles, Tristan, Lucas, and Mark along with the rest of the Pope Institute grads.

"_Mein Gott_, Olivia, you're looking good!" Tristan bowed dramatically to his old friend, who he hadn't seen in some time, and for his compliment received a peck on the cheek.

"_Viel Dank Mein Freund," _she replied in near-flawless German.

"Took you guys long enough, didn't it?" Lucas chided and received a 'playful' swat from Marcella. The others laughed merrily as they continued to snack, conversations resuming around the typical subjects of politics, entertainment, and who's-with-whom these days.

Caught up in the conversation around her, Olivia didn't notice the two figures sitting away from the group, one of them all but hidden by one of the large deck canopies that shaded the table. He sat back languidly, stirring a rum n'Coke that he hadn't sipped from since he'd gotten it, and doing his level best to appear interested in the mundane conversation David Philips was trying to interest him in.

As the elegant young woman gracefully accepted compliments from her friends, floating from group to group like the perfect hostess her father taught her to be, he watched; the approaching evening's cool breeze lifted the single wisp of loose hair she allowed, caressing the curl out of the end only to wave it back after the wind had left her. The sleeveless sundress was quite flattering to her slim, but curvy figure, and as she suddenly raised her right hand to cover a laugh, he smiled behind his red-tinted glasses, catching a glimpse of the tribal tattoo on her upper arm. He remembered the day she'd gotten it, in some rebellious teenage hope that it was going to upset Rowan. They'd both been shocked and surprised when Olivia's dad had rolled up his sleeve to show them the only slightly faded tattoo on his bicep; a spur-of-the-moment decision during his National Guard Reserve days.

"Excuse me, Dave."

The young man trailed off in mid-sentence as his comrade abandoned both his drink and their conversation. As David noticed the soldier's beeline for Olivia, he smiled with a sort of sad and helpless expression.

_Here we go…_

Marcella caught sight of him before Liv, but was too far away to alert her sister verbally without causing as scene. She watched helplessly as he neared her sister. Olivia, meanwhile, felt a presence close to her back and turned her head slightly, but not enough to look him in his ruby-tinted sunglasses.

"Hello there, Olivia."

Her stomach flipped at his low, purposeful greeting, but she refused even a smile. Turning fully to gaze up at him, she nodded politely replying, "Hello, Jake."

Across the patio, Lt. General Christopher Ballard nodded appreciatively toward his son and Rowan's daughter.

"Rowan, I must say, you've raised a fine daughter there. Olivia's become quite the young woman."

"Thank you, Christopher…" Rowan smiled tightly, trying not to show his deliberate attempt to ignore the waves of emotions rolling off his daughter.

Opposite the two older gents, Elizabeth and Marcella leaned against the wall, sipping their drinks but completely shameless in watching what they both hoped would be Jake Ballard making a complete ass of himself.

"Oh just look at him! All smug an' shit…like she came back here for his ass," Marie sniffed.

Elizabeth shook her head as Jake stepped a little closer to Olivia, displaying his genetic, trademark dazzling smile. "Can you really blame the bloke for trying, Marcella? Jake knows he fucked up."

The southern girl huffed, picking up her third drink. "Damned straight he did. Ah just hope Liv sticks to her guns an' tells 'im where he can stick it."

Despite being in the middle of the moment she'd feared would come since the beginning of summer, Olivia wasn't so much aware of Jake laying on his charm as she was the subtle –and _not _so subtle, as she caught sight of Marcella burning holes in his back – attention they were getting from some of the others. Unfortunately, she knew, the on-again off-again, troubled 'relationship' between her and one of the Air Force's most decorated pilots was hardly a secret anymore. It seemed pretty much every one of her family and former classmates had gotten wind of what had, and _hadn't_, happened between the two.

As Olivia took note of the noticeably quieter conversations around them, she had to admit even her father had probably heard rumors about it.

"Is that all you have to say to me, Liv? We haven't seen each other in almost three years, and that's it?" Jake seemed to think her cool demeanor was humorous.

The playful twinkle behind those shades only raised her ire, but Olivia was determined not to let it show. She knew a thing or two, after all, about suppressing emotions. Finally smiling graciously, she replied, "I'm sorry, Jake, of course. How's the Air Force? I heard your dad's getting promoted to full General."

His own smile faltered just barely, as she did a marvelous job of switching the subject off of them. Pausing before answering, Jake couldn't tell if she was just being polite or if there was something more sinister going on behind those startling brown eyes. Playing along for a moment, he came back.

"Yeah, yeah…Can you believe it? A full General. Of course, you would've known that, if you'd responded to any of my letters –"

"Oh! And look at _you_! A Captain now. When did that happen? I'm sure your father must be _so _proud. Have you told my dad yet? I'm sure _he'd _love to hear about it."

"Olivia…" he took her by the elbow gently, a determined look in his eyes. "Enough of this. We need to talk."

"I'm sorry, Captain. Isn't that what we're doing?"

"You know what I'm –"

"Everyone, if you'll please; dinner will be served momentarily in the dining hall." Helena stood at the threshold to the deck; smiling pleasantly.

"Great. _Grub!_" Lucas nearly bounced toward the door; evidently the alcohol and hors d'oeuvres hadn't done a thing for his appetite.

His excitement elicited several chuckles, and as they all headed toward the interior of the house and to the dining hall, Marcella and Elizabeth suddenly appeared by Liv's sides, taking each of her arms. Jake was forced to take a step back.

Grabbing Liv's purse, the young, saucy southerner casually flipped it open, and as they departed, shoved the bundle of unopened letters at Jake's chest. Dragging her shocked sister away, Marcella called behind her:

"Ah think those are yers."

Stunned for a few moments, Jake Ballard stood there on the dim patio deck, holding the package in his hands. Unbothered, he casually placed them on the inside coat pocket of his uniform, and with a slight grin, headed inside. If Marcella thought she was going to get rid of him that easily, she _and _her elusive sister had another thing coming.

**At that Moment, four miles down the beach at what **_**used **_**to be the Grant Estate…**

The quieted beach house was painted with the strong shadows and colors of sunset as Colonel Grant moved among the rooms like a specter. He still didn't seem to notice or care about the mess around him as he walked from room to room as if searching for something.

Downstairs, he combed over the two family rooms, numbly sifting through the old toys and books scattered – broken – all around the room. After a few minutes search and he was satisfied what he sought was not there, he moved to the living room, the three downstairs guest rooms, and so on and on…

His weary gaze fell over every crack and crevice until he finally found himself outside one of the upstairs bedrooms. It was the _only _door of the house that had remained unopened for the six months he'd stationed himself here.

It was only now that he hesitated. He now knew without a doubt what he sought had to be in that room, so why couldn't he just open the damned door and get it?

_What the hell's the matter with you?_ He berated himself, and it was enough to get his legs to take one step closer, his hand lifted to the cool metal of the doorknob.

But that was as far as he would get.

An abrupt, chilled sensation skittered down his spine, and a peculiar tightness erupted in his chest. The rapid heartbeat that followed was enough to make him stumble back a step. Holding his trembling palms before him, Fitz peered at them with puzzlement mixed generously with irritation.

Angrily, he grabbed the doorknob again, but when the feeling returned ten-fold, sending pulsing beats of pain coursing through his temples, he gave up with an irritated growl and stormed down the stairs. Upon reaching the ground floor, he took one quick, sweeping glare around the house before he burst out of the back porch door and headed down the slight incline toward the beach.

**Back at the Pope Estate…**

While the rest of his guests were seating themselves and engaging in light, playful banter, Rowan Pope quickly and quietly allowed Lena to push him into his downstairs study, where the former beauty queen closed the door soundly behind them.

"Rowan, are you alright? It looks worse this time." She half turned to regard her husband with worried eyes as she sifted through Rowan's desk, pulling out small orange containers marked with _Rx._

Rowan nodded just briefly, wiping his brow with a kerchief despite the fact it was a cool sixty-seven degrees out.

"I'll be fine, Lena. Please, let's go back before my absence is noticeable."

Lena lined up the eight prescriptions and a syringe with a clear glass bottle of liquid on the edge of the desk, and grabbed the first container of pills to pop open.

"Alright."

**In the dining hall, **Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her chair under Jake's visual scrutiny, as he'd placed himself directly across from her at the long table. She could feel his attentiveness, and tonight, of all nights, it became unbearably smothering.

"Excuse me…" she muttered, pushing her seat back, and almost colliding with one of the servers, from the table.

"Liv? Where're ya goin' Sugah?" Marcella looked up at her with concern.

"I'll be right back. Tell dad to start dinner without me."

"Liv –"

"Marcella, I'm fine. Trust me. I'll be _right back_." Quickly she escaped before the belle could get it in her head to come rushing after her. Olivia was more than equally assured when Jake stayed planted in his seat, although his eyes latched onto her until she disappeared around a corner.

Once she was sure no eyes could follow, Liv let out a deep breath and headed for one of the downstairs bathrooms to freshen up. Right then, a good splash of water to the face sounded heavenly to her.

After that was taken care of, she headed back toward the dining room, but paused when she heard muffled noises from Rowan's study. Olivia would've passed on by without another thought had she not then heard what sounded like groans and someone choking on something.

Alarmed, she came back to the door, listened for a second more, and when the noises intensified briefly, she knocked, calling softly, "Dad? Is that you? Are you alright? Do you need help?"

"No, Olivia, we're fine." Lena's voice called out from the other side, sounding distant.

She hesitated at his uncertain voice, then bit back what she was about to ask as she heard Rowan's voice, low and obviously full of pain. It was too muffled to discern words, but it was enough to thoroughly frighten her.

"Dad? Lena, I'm coming in…"

Olivia's fingers gripped the doorknob, trying to open it, but it didn't budge. She shook the handle, looking down to find it barely budging in her hands.

"Lena? What are you doing?"

Inside, she kept an eye on the door as she quickly tied a rubber tourniquet around Rowan's upper arm. "Rowan, don't. It would be better to just let her stay outside."

A loud series of knocks came at the door, and Rowan lifted his bleary eyes for a moment, uncertain.

"Lena, how much longer do you think I can keep hiding…_this_?" he weakly waved a hand toward the bottles of medication, the syringe in Lena's hand, and the plastic-lined wastebasket in his lap.

"Dad?" Olivia's voice could be heard from the other side of the door, worry and fear strongly exuding from her tone. "Please, dad, are you okay? Why won't you let me in?"

Lena turned away from the door and stood between it and Rowan to block the man's view of it.

"Rowan, listen to me. Do you really want Olivia to find out like this?"

"Lean? Please, just let me see he's okay. Please?"

Rowan's head hung low, and he closed his tired eyes at the unmistakable sound of panic in her voice. When he looked back up at Lena, his wife could tell he'd made up his mind.

"Open the door, Lena."

On the other side, Olivia leaned against the door, trying to get her heart to stop beating so hard. A motion behind the heavy door alerted her, and she stood straight as Lena appeared behind the now opened door.

"Lena?" She questioned shakily, but Lena only pulled her inside and closed the door quickly.

Olivia stood rooted in place as she saw her father sitting near his desk, his usually bright and loving face now a pale, deathly pallor, and his hands visibly trembling as he cradled the wastebasket in his lap.

"Dad? What's wrong? Do you need me to get Charles?"

Rowan slowly shook his head, then motioned Lena closer. As Lena continued loading the syringe with the clear liquid, Olivia gasped at the sight of the bottles of medicine. When Rowan weakly beckoned her over, she came without delay, kneeling beside his wheelchair and taking one of his clammy hands in hers. He tried to smile, but the effort seemed too much.

"It's alright, Olivia…Just…give me a-a moment."

"I – I don't understand…What's happening to you? What _is _all this?" She was confused and afraid, and her eyes began to hurt with the onset of tears, but she blinked them back, trying to regain some calm.

Rowan squeezed her hand, about to say something, but his lips went pale and instead, he lowered his head to the wastebasket. His thin body jerked with the effort, but only bile slid from his lips. After a couple more dry heaves, he nodded to Lena, who wiped his exposed arm with an alcohol-damp napkin, and stuck the long needle of the syringe in the bluish vein popping out of the inside of Rowan's elbow.

For a couple minutes, the trio sat there in silence, and as Olivia watched, she could visibly see her father's natural color returning, the tremble leave his lips and fingers, and the glassy film lift from his eyes. Lena stood from where she'd been leaning against the edge of the wide, oak wood desk, and began cleaning up – replacing the medication _Rx_ bottles and disposing of the used syringe.

Almost his normal self, Rowan turned to look at Liv, a genuine if not weak smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, Olivia. These things happen when I don't take my medication on time. It's not as bad as it looks, though."

Lena's eyes lifted momentarily and she stared hard at Rowan, but she kept quiet, continuing her clean up.

"Dad, what's wrong? Why are you taking so much medicine?" Olivia's voice told Rowan she was unconsciously steeling herself against bad news. He reached out and caressed her cheek, preparing his words carefully. He still wasn't sure this was the best thing to do, but he couldn't keep her in the dark any longer.

"Olivia, I…"

"Dad. Please…you can tell me."

Rowan licked his lips, then smiled grimly at his strong little girl. "I have brain cancer."

Olivia blinked for about thirty seconds, then her brows furrowed, as if she didn't understand what he'd just said. "W-what? You – You – "

"Charles diagnosed me and a panel of doctors confirmed it."

"When? _How_?"

Rowan held her shaking fingers tightly, looking deeply into her eyes. "We're not certain…Charles thinks I've had the tumor for about two years now. We just caught it last March."

Lena stood with her back to them, gazing forlornly out of the window behind the desk. As she watched, the sun's light slowly disappearing behind the horizon, a distant flash of lightning caught her attention from the west.

"W-Wait, you…you've known for over a year, and you haven't said anything to us? Why?" She looked at him in disbelief.

Sensing the anger rolling off her in tidal waves, he nonetheless continued, "Christopher and Jake know."

"_What_?" Olivia pulled her hand away from him, the feeling of betrayal slowly creeping onto her face. "T- They _know_?"

Rowan nodded, not oblivious to her mood change. There was no turning back now, however. He just hoped she'd come to understand why he did what he did.

"Marcella is still in school, and you –"

"You chose not to tell me?" Olivia's eyes narrowed as she alternated her glare between him and a quiet Lena, who remained wordless at the window.

"For your own well-being, Olivia. Besides, this isn't the sort of thing that's easy for a father to have to tell his children –"

"You didn't have much trouble telling others. _'I'm dying'_. See? Two little words. Simple." She stood abruptly, and a low rumble of thunder shook the walls.

"Don't take that tone with him, Olivia." Lena fixed her with an icy stare as she half-turned from the window. "You want to know why you're the last to know? Look at how you're acting now."

"Lena, please…" Rowan kept his voice low; he knew her words were borne more out of the sense of helplessness and abandonment that his daughter had struggled with all her life. It still hurt, but he could deal with her anger, as long as she understood.

Ignoring the rain that was now pelting the darkened window, she turned to Lena, her brow raised.

"Oh. Now it's _my _fault? Is that it, Lena? My father just – just told me he has a _fatal _disease, and, and –"

"Olivia, wait –" Rowan reached out to her, but she stepped away from him, shaking.

"No! – And – I mean, how the hell did you _think _I'd take it? I mean, for god's sake, _cancer is incurable!_"

"Olivia, please…I didn't want you to find out like this." Rowan set the wastebasket down on the floor, turning his chair as she backed away toward the door.

But Olivia was already shaking her head, not listening. Angry at the tears that fought their way down her cheeks, angry at Rowan and Lena for keeping something so important from her for so long and for such a reason (logical as it may have seemed). Most of all, angry at herself for wanting to just lay her head down and cry in her father's lap, and for feeling like the five year old girl who had just lost her mother in Cairo…

"Rowan? Olivia? Are you in there?" Charles' voice could be heard over his knocks at the door. "It's getting rather violent outside."

Olivia stood there, her eyes locked with Rowan's. Slowly, she shook her head as he tried to reach out to her.

"Olivia, _please_…"

"I – I have to get out of here!" Turning suddenly, she swung the door open, pushing past the group of guests that had gathered out in the hall.

"Liv!" Charles called after her.

"Let me through!" She cried out angrily, shoving past the surprised faces.

"Sugah, what's wrong?" Marcella started after her, but Liv didn't respond, hurrying down the hall.

"Olivia, wait!" Jake caught her by the arm, but she twisted out of his grip, continuing at a run toward the door.

"No; let her go." All eyes turned to Rowan, who'd wheeled through the doorway, his weary eyes pained. He took several deep breathes before repeating. "For now, just let her go."

**The moment Olivia hit the porch, **she was bombarded by the icy cold, pelting rain. She stumbled in the wet sand of the beach, as she strove to put as much distance as possible between herself and _that _house.

The intensity of the storm around her increased, as the pelting rain mixed with her salty tears. She left her expensive _Via Spiga's _somewhere behind her, and as the wind increased in strength, the delicate hairdo Elizabeth had fashioned was abused as well, until her hair whipped around her in long, free tendrils as wild as the torrent surrounding her.

_So the letters from the mystery man were from Jake! What did you guys think about how Marcella handled the situation? It doesn't seem like Jake is taking Olivia's cold-shoulder too seriously. And Rowan. Olivia didn't take that well. She's a bit of a hot mess right now. *Spoiler for next time: In the next chapter, Olivia and Fitz __**finally **__meet._

_Thank you valkel00, Wheels2, reneeharris49, LoreneMichelle41, and multipleshadesofpurple (Cass stop semi-giving things away ;)) for your lovely reviews. - Mae_


	4. Chapter 4

**First Impressions, part 1**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 3: "First Impressions, pt. 1"_

**Southampton, Long Island. New York**

**June 12, 2004**

**5:59 a.m…**

Her weary legs had been glad to get some rest. After walking more than half the night, Olivia found herself sitting outside a quaint little coffee shop on North Sea Road, some six miles or so away from the Pope Estate.

So deep was she submerged in her thoughts, for the first thirty minutes she didn't seem to notice the curious looks from the few passersby on the quiet, exclusive part of the street. It was only after a young man jogging tripped over his own feet while repeatedly gawking at her, that she came out of her daydream.

Self-consciously, she looked down at herself and groaned, feeling her face flush and tingle in embarrassment. The lovely sundress she'd bought _just _for this summer was nearly in rags – ruined – tattered beyond belief from the storm the night before. Her legs were covered in sparkling beach sand (now dried, at least) all the way up to her calves, and as she carefully lifted her fingers above eyes level, could just _tell _her hair was in the same boat as the rest of her.

_God, I'm sure I am a sight! _She thought, attempting to smooth her hair and dust the sand from her body, but only succeeding in making her appearance worse (if that was possible).

After a few fruitless moments, she gave up and decided she didn't really care, sinking back into her thoughts once more. This gave her time to think; to re-evaluate every decision she'd made (and some that had been made _for _her) up to that point in her life. There wasn't much Liv had to be regretful of, but the angry reaction she had toward her father was definitely one thing she wished to take back.

How difficult must it have been, she wondered sadly, to have one's own mortality so painfully slap you in the face? _And then, to have your child react the way I did…_

It didn't take too terribly much pondering for her to realize Rowan had only acted in what he thought were her best interests. After all, he was her father. That 'conversation' couldn't have been easy or pleasant for him, either.

"Oh, my goodness _gracious _dear!"

Olivia started, snapping out of her reverie, as she looked up at the older woman standing before her. "Pardon?"

"Honey, are you alright? Lord-Jesus, looks like you got caught in that mess last night." The lady squinted down at her instead of simply pulling her trifocals down from the top of her carefully-pinned salt-n-peppered hair.

Olivia grinned slightly at the older woman, dressed in her aerobic duds complete with a headband, and gently pulled on the short leash of her energetic Pug, as the friendly canine decided to say hello to the disheveled young woman. Welcoming the dog's affection with a generous scratch behind his folded ears, she waved away the woman's concern.

"Oh. Yeah…It was quite a storm, wasn't it? Was anyone injured, have you heard?"

"_Francis_, stop now!" The woman chastised her little friend, but hardly seemed to mean it as the cute little mutt turned big brown eyes their way. She smiled pleasantly at Olivia, continuing, "Oh, uhm…Not that I've heard, dear. There's been some reports about a couple of piers, maybe some of those yachts out there; but not people, as far as I know. You're lucky yourself, I might add."

"Yeah…lucky." She lowered her eyes, her thoughts elsewhere as the playful, energetic Pug wagged his short, curly tail for another ear scratch.

The displaced wealthy older woman sensed the younger woman's distress and didn't want to impose on her any longer. Gently nudging Francis to continue walking, she quickly unzipped the fanny pack around her waist and slid a crisp ten dollar bill on the table beside Liv's arm.

"Oh, no, please I –"

"Dear, take it. Get yourself a cup of something hot, before you catch your death; or a cab as far as this'll take you. Besides, it'd make me feel better, you out here alone and all." The woman's eyes were soft and kind, but her posture and tone told Olivia she wasn't taking 'No' for an answer.

Hesitantly taking the bill and folding it in her palm, Liv smiled up at her would-be benefactor. "Thank you, ma'am. Really…I…"

The woman grinned, waving away Olivia's genuine acceptance, and as Francis reached the end of his retractable leash's length, she leaned toward Olivia to whisper quietly, "And you might want to get all that beach sand out of your hair – _it's white as a ghost!"_

The woman hopped away, as the pugnacious little dog pulled her forward with the leash, leaving a wide-eyed, puzzled Olivia behind her. After several seconds, the school teacher burst out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

**About thirty minutes later, **Olivia was heading back toward the Estate, taking the same route from the night before. In her right hand, she carefully carried a caramel latte and in her left a blueberry scone. She'd been kind of disappointed once the coffee shop opened to discover they didn't offer many varieties of tea, but she was content with the latte. As she nibbled on the warmed scone (and waited for the latte to cool a bit) her thoughts, of course, went back to the last night. Just the thought of her father in so much pain made her eyes well with tears, and more than once Olivia had to stop to wipe them.

_It's just not fair, _she argued. _Dad's done so much in his life to help people…why would something like…._

She looked up then, her brow furrowing before she breathed, "Ah, shit."

As she walked along the beach her steps suddenly slowed to an abrupt stop, as she saw three massive yachts – two beached against the surf, with their hulls ruptured, sails torn; and the third turned on its nose, perpendicularly stabbing the shallow ocean floor only about twenty yards out. Slowly continuing to walk, she also noticed the amount of debris around her increase the closer she got to the Estate.

_Hopefully there alright. Maybe Lena was right. _She shook her head, disappointed in her lack of self-control. _This happened…and dad…and I ran off._

Looking down at her half-eaten scone and still untouched latte, Olivia was suddenly not very hungry. Turning to look toward the street, she winced at the sight of a beach house that appeared to have seen better days. Never occurring to her that the disrepair of its exterior may not have been the storm's doing, Olivia groaned at the sight of the dangerously leaning trees, the seaweed and beach grass now decorating the house's rear porch as well as the man sitting on the – _whoa!_

She did the appropriate double-take as she almost passed the house.

_Waitaminute…_Coming closer cautiously, she cursed inwardly when her bright eyes confirmed the man's presence.

He was sitting on the bottom step of the back porch, bare feet buried in sand, his arms resting on his knees as he leaned back, his head tilted to one side against the wooden post of the steps' railing, which needed at _least _another coat of paint. His white t-shirt was stained with dried mud from the storm, as were his arms, legs, his face. He actually looked like he'd sustained the entire onslaught, right there on that step.

Olivia stopped about ten feet away from him, hesitating to say anything, as she saw several reeds of seaweed slip off his broad shoulders. He literally looked ship-wrecked.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

He didn't move or speak, as if she weren't there or he hadn't heard her. Olivia took two steps closer, her imagination going wild, thinking maybe he was dead.

"S-Sir?"

Then she saw his eyes blink, very slowly, but his gaze never lifted to hers. As she pondered this, she looked at him closer, and her face contorted with his lack of expression. His eyes, a color close to the bright sky, seemed as lifeless as the rest of him; his slouching body, she could tell, was muscular, though with his posture even those taunt tendons seemed too relaxed to the point of useless. He was like a weathered, beaten bronze statue from some ancient culture, silently telling a sad tale of some epic myth of which the actual text had long been lost.

Unsure if she should press, Olivia looked past him back up to the darkened house, where the rear shutters appeared to have been loosened during the torrential downpour. There was still some standing water she could see on the steps behind him, and estimated there may be other parts of the home in worse condition. She didn't see anyone else about, and so assumed he was alone.

She began to back away from him.

_Wait_. She hesitated, thinking of the kind woman she'd met earlier. Looking down at her hands, Liv made her decision, cautiously coming up to the steps, albeit from the side farthest from where he leaned but within his line of vision. Still he didn't acknowledge her presence, even when she knelt by him momentarily. Standing and taking a step back, she whispered.

"I'm sorry."

Whether he knew what she meant or not, she felt it needed to be said.

When he remained silent, she backed a couple of steps away, and then turned, heading back down to the beach toward Rowan's Estate. After about thirty feet or so, she hazarded a look back, but he still sat exactly as before. Sighing heavily, she shrugged and continued home.

**Back on the steps,** Fitz's body gradually eased its tensed stance, and as if he'd suddenly awakened from a trance, he blinked several times, and then turned his head, glancing down beside his hip. There beside him was a covered, clear plastic cup of something resembling coffee, but it was topped with whipped cream and drizzled with some kind of candy-looking gunk.

He reached over and picked up the cup, bringing it to his eye-level, examining it with a suspicious nose. The strong odor of coffee bean and caramel wafted up to him and he grunted dismissively. Turning his torso, he looked down the beach, catching a glimpse of a thin brown body. His eyes narrowed momentarily as his keen sight zeroed in on her. When she turned half way to glance back again, his bloodshot blue eyes widened considerably.

_I'll be damned. It can't be._

**Sometime later, **Liv trudged through the beach's cold sand, watching as her father's beach house got closer with each step. When she was back on the property, she paused outside the back patio, looking up at the drawn curtains of the four floors of rooms. As she surveyed the exterior for possible damage, she noticed one of those windows was now opened. She knew exactly whose room it was and sighed heavily.

_Time to grow up, girl._

Picking up her sand-covered feet, she headed toward the Estate. Her home.

_What could Fitz's thought possibly mean? It's definitely alluding to something else, isn't it? Hm! What do you guys think?_

_Thank you freckled98, LoreneMichelle41, and kelleekellkell! - Mae_


	5. Chapter 5

**First Impressions, part 2**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 4, "First Impressions, pt. 2"_

**Southampton Beach**

**Pope Estate**

**7:40 a.m.**

Rowan twisted the caps back onto his _Rx_ bottles, having already taken the dosages out of each. Inwardly, he was glad to have to endure the painful shot only once a day, although lately his system seemed to be acclimating to the powerful narcotic.

Grimacing, he shook away that thought, and palmed the first three pills of a total of nine. Reaching for his glass of water, he popped the medication into his mouth and chased them with a large gulp.

"Rowan? Are you up yet?" Came the deep, slightly sleepy call through the bedroom door.

As Rowan reached for the next series of pills, he glanced toward the door, "Come in, Charles."

Slowly the door opened, and Charles' close-cropped blonde head popped in first, a grin on his face. "Ah, good. You're already beginning the day's regime. I'll just be a moment or two to take your vitals."

Rowan crossed his arms over the thick comforter covering his body, managing to look years younger as he gave his doctor the closest thing he could manage to a pout. "Charles, I told you last night, I am fine. I simply cannot waiver on the designated times to take the medication."

As Charles opened the door wider, he ignored his patient's excuses as well as his surprised expression upon seeing the various medical instruments Charles had not-so-coyly crammed into his lab coat's pockets. "All the same, Rowan, just humor me then, alright? Let me perform a few tests…"

"And just what do you think you are going to do with all of _those_?" Rowan raised a skeptical brow at Charles' fat pockets.

Charles reached the bed and leaned over to help his patient sit up. "Oh, nothing…"

"Nothing, indeed…" Rowan scoffed (sort of) playfully as his muscular doctor easily lifted him off the bed and into the wheelchair waiting by the bedside. "If you think for one moment to try testing some of those gadgets of yours on me, Charles MaCovy, we may have a problem."

Dark brown eyes twinkled as the young doctor tried not to chuckle at the thinly-veiled 'threat'. It was a very familiar song and dance he and Rowan engaged in; since Charles had first been a pupil at the prestigious academy, Rowan had done nothing but continually encourage the boy's inquisitive mind and obsession with inventions. Rowan just didn't want to be the lab rat for Charles' next 'uniquely adventurous discovery'.

"Fair enough." Charles patted his mentor's right arm, and Rowan unbuttoned the end of his pajama sleeve, rolling it up above the elbow. "I shall have to be content with a BP check then, I suppose."

"Thank you, Charles."

"_For now_."

Rowan let that pass, as he knew sooner or later (probably later that day) he'd have to succumb to Charles' prodding, and go in for more tests. Logically, rationally, Rowan knew that staying one step ahead of the disease was the best option available right then to give him more time…However, at the moment, Charles couldn't blame him for wanting to continue to live on in ignorance for a little while longer.

_Knock. Knock. _

"May I come in?"

Rowan couldn't see over Charles' broad shoulder, but then, he didn't really need to. "Of course, Olivia."

As Charles finished taking Rowan's blood pressure, he stood and quietly excused himself, squeezing Liv's shoulder in greeting and goodbye. Closing the door behind him, he whispered, "I'll be back later, Rowan."

Rowan nodded briefly, keeping his eyes fixed on Olivia. She stood a respectful distance from him, her hands clasped before her tightly as she struggled not to keep bowing her head.

The silence between them was palpable, and as Rowan settled against the back of his chair, he said suddenly, "Good God you are a mess."

Initially she didn't get it, and it was only after he allowed a slight grin that Liv relaxed, a sort of crooked smile forming at the corners of her lips as well. "Thank you for noticing."

Rowan's serious gaze returned; however, and he sort of cocked his greying head to one side, asking (quite genuinely), "Do you feel better?"

Olivia seemed to contemplate that for a long time, and finally, after several more seconds, stepped closer to him, coming down to her knees. They stared at one another intently for a long while. Rowan saw the sometimes impetuous but always empathetic young girl he'd come in custody of more than two decades ago. Olivia couldn't bear the thought of ever waking to the knowledge she'd never see her father again.

He saw her full bottom lip quiver slightly, and at the same time she leaned into him, Rowan's arms were already open for the embrace. She clung to him for dear support, and as her sobs became audible, Rowan gently stroked her messy hair, and tried his best not to weep himself.

"I'm…I'm sorry…I'm sorry." Her words seemed a jumble to him, but Rowan concentrated a little harder, and reached out to soothe her.

"Olivia, it's alright. It'll be alright…" He looked up briefly, a little concerned.

She raised her head then, and smiled weakly. Even in these circumstances, and in his present condition, her father still knew how to comfort her fears.

"Can my little Princess do something for me?" Rowan tilted her chin up so their eyes met.

"Anything."

He smiled. "I need you to be strong, Olivia. Maybe now, more than ever. Marcella is going to need you, just like Lena and this school."

She wavered for a moment, shifting beneath his intent gaze. "Dad, I…"

"You can do this, Olivia. Please, for me."

Nodding, she willed her emotions back into check, wiping at her tears on her cheeks. With a deep sigh she laid her forehead just beneath his jawline, and could feel his pulse strong there in the neck. Barely a whisper, she repeated, "Anything."

Hugging her tightly, Rowan smiled somberly, as he recalled a long time ago that he asked her to do much the same thing, but for very different reasons…

**24 Years Ago**

**Salem Center, Westchester County, NY**

**4:03 a.m.**

Shifting quietly in the oak wood rocking chair, Rowan tried to get his left arm to wake up from its numb slumber without disturbing the sleeping child in his arms. Her head naturally fit into the crook of his elbow, her flawless cherubim features finally at rest.

He sighed with relief when she didn't stir, as he rotated his wrist and pumped his fingers to get the feeling back. After the rough night they'd had, he was just glad she'd managed to sleep at all, and prayed that for once, the young girl would be able to sleep through the night.

He hadn't had Olivia back in the States for a full seven months yet, following the tragic deaths of her birth mother and stepfather, and still the little one found it increasingly difficult to adjust to her new life.

However, this was also brand new to Rowan Pope as well, whose only child to this point had been with her mother and who had no wife – just a challenging job with the State Department assisting a U.N. Ambassador, and the will to give this his best shot. Looking down into her fitfully resting face, he still had to admit he was surprised how drastically his life had changed in the course of a few months. He was a father now. He was someone's _dad_. And not just anyone, he mused, continuing to rock slowly back and forth in the chair his grandmother had rocked him to sleep in. He was the proud father of one of the most gifted, beautiful, brightest, challenging, mysterious, and infuriating little five year olds he'd ever met.

Every day with little Olivia had proven to be a challenge – some good, some not so good – but Rowan knew with each passing day that he'd done the right thing. Not that the court system had made it any easier for him, Maya hadn't put his name on the birth certificate and only a DNA test reversed the initial decision of the court to block the custody papers he had filed. And most of his friends and co-workers thought he was mad (except Lena), but that negative reinforcement only served, oddly enough, to push him harder.

Using some of the fortune his parents had bequeathed him, Rowan set out to bring the young girl back to the U.S. with him after his job in North Africa was finished; completing the DNA test and proving the girl was his child, thus already a U.S. citizen, was the biggest break Rowan and his lawyers could have hoped for, and helped his case dramatically. Although he had assumed he would have brought her with him even had the DNA test proven she wasn't his.

As the small child began to struggle in her sleep, Rowan was momentarily distracted from his thoughts, and brought a hand up to her pouting cheek, caressing it slowly and shushing her back to sleep until she stilled once more.

His thoughts returned inward, and Rowan chuckled softly, recalling the initial reaction to those around him once he stated his intent to gain custody of his daughter. The State officials and coworkers in New York's _DCFS_ were hesitant to allow this young, unmarried, fresh-faced black man to gain custody of the girl, but at the same time they were puzzled by what to make of the little brown-eyed, bright African-American. Rowan, on the other hand, had already suspected the young girl was more than special, and as he'd learn a few short years later, was more than right.

"Mm…Mama…"

He was startled out of his thoughts again, as she began to struggle harder in her sleep. He tried to soothe her unconscious terror, but it only escalated. With their physical proximity, he could easily feel the terror she was no doubt reliving, and would've given anything to take it away.

As he reached a hand up to her cheek, little Olivia's eyes snapped open, bewilderment and panic on her face. She seemed unaware of where she was, and confused the darkened nursery and the embrace she was in as a different time, a different place.

Before he could calm her, she'd struggled out of his arms, rolling to the floor with a solid _thmp_ and scrambled to the full-sized bed nearby, her eyes wide as she muttered unintelligible things in Swahili and English.

"Olivia? Olivia, it's okay. It was just a dream." He tried to reason with her, stepping cautiously over to the bed. When he neared her, though, she whimpered as if she'd been struck, raising one small arm above her face as if to block a blow.

_Or falling debris._ Rowan stopped in his tracks, surmising that she was still evidently caught in some kind of night-terror, between her nightmare's world and this still unfamiliar reality.

Olivia's audible distress intensified, as her bulging eyes quickly bounced around the room, and she kept looking up at the bed's frilly canopy as if she expected it to fall in upon her at any moment. Realizing she was paralyzed with the claustrophobic fear, Rowan tried a different approach, kneeling beside the bed so his eye level was no longer above hers.

Hoping she would be able to understand him, he tested out his rusty Swahili. [ Olivia, wake up, little one. You are safe.]

Her gaze darted from the canopy to him, and he could clearly tell she doubted that.

[It hurts.] Her raspy little voice trembled.

[What hurts?] He slid forward slowly.

[…_The dark. _It hurts.]

"Shhh…" He chose then to reach a hand out to her, as a tear finally broke through to slide down her cheeks. When his fingers came in contact with her feverish skin, he knew he would have to do something to help her. Rubbing her back and feeling her begin to calm, he made a note to visit a hypnotist later. It was a gamble, but he felt it needed to be taken, lest her nightmares push the girl back into that catatonic state the soldiers had found her in, buried beneath the rubble of her mother's home.

"_Baba_?"

She twisted her hand from within his to raise her delicate, tiny fingers to his face. Olivia's eyes searched his, and she seemed to recognize him now.

Rowan smiled at the use of _father_. It had taken some convincing before she understood that he was her father.

"It's okay, Olivia. Nothing's going to hurt you."

She allowed him to come up onto the mattress, sitting beside her as she answered matter-of-factly, "The dark can. The dark hurts…all the time."

He gathered her up into his arms, and slowly rocked her. "I won't let the dark hurt you anymore, Olivia."

"You promise?"

He stopped, and leaned away from her to stare straight into her lovely, troubled eyes. "I do. If you promise _me _something."

She looked at him a little skeptically, but said, "What?"

"I promise the dark won't hurt you anymore, if you promise me to be strong."

"Be strong?"

"Hm-hmm…" He nodded, continuing. "Together, you and I can beat the dark. But only if it sees you are strong. When you feel it around you, you can't be afraid. Tell the dark, 'you can't hurt me, anymore'. Can you say that?"

She gazed up at him, unsure, but repeated timidly, "You can't hurt me anymore."

He shook his head, "You have to _shout_ it, Olivia. Say it. "The dark can't hurt me!"

"_The dark can't hurt me_!" She smiled sheepishly, and he could feel some of her anxiety diminish. Rowan realized it was only a band-aid, and that even some intense therapy may not fully erase the damage of what had happened, but for now, he'd take whatever worked.

**Present Day**

Olivia leaned into his chest, hugging him tightly. "I'll be strong, _baba_. I promise."

Rowan smiled somberly but proudly, hugging her back and kissing the top of her disheveled head. "That's my girl."

After going upstairs to clean herself up, Olivia took a detour by the kitchen, where a couple of the full-time chefs were already in the middle of preparing what smelled to be a lovely breakfast. Pilfering a strawberry from the large colander of freshly washed fruit by the counter, she asked, "Have either of you seen Marcella?"

As the chefs looked up, shaking their heads, a deep voice behind her said, "She's gone out."

Liv turned on her heel to see Jake standing there in the doorway, dressed in a Pope Institute sweatshirt and matching jogging pants, holding the morning paper in one hand. She came up to him, crossing her arms.

"Out? Where?"

He shrugged, turning to go, and knew she'd follow him – which she did. "For a walk, she said. She passed me out on the back patio earlier. Of course, I think she only deemed me worthy because she knew you'd ask."

Olivia followed him out there, where he resumed his place on one of the reclining patio chairs, and continued reading. For a long while, she just stood there looking out at the quiet surf and deep in thought. She needed to talk to Marcella, make sure she was alright (as much as she could be, any way). By their father's request, Olivia could only assume the youngest Pope kid had also found out the truth of his condition. And while Marcella was sometimes impulsive, at least they didn't have to worry about her running away.

"I guess you're feeling better."

Olivia was dragged out of her thoughts as Jake addressed her. She grimaced at his tone; even though her father had asked the same question, the two men's intentions were worlds apart. Instead of retorting with some angry gesture, she replied simply, "Why would you say that?"

He read for a few seconds more, then laid the paper aside. Turning to look up at her, Jake lifted one shoulder. "That was a helluva storm last night. You ran off into it, pushed anyone who tried to stop you aside. I don't know, I just put two and two together."

"Well, the next time you feel like attempting _complicated _math, Jake, do us all a favor – don't." She couldn't help that one; the man always knew how to push her buttons.

He stifled a laugh, folding his arms behind his head as he watched her. Olivia walked out onto the patio, stopping at the railing far from him. With a sudden thought, she turned her head, eyeing him suspiciously. "And just how did _you _find out?"

He bypassed asking her how she knew he knew, instead he got up from the chair, coming over to stand at the rail beside her. "Last Summer –"

Olivia tsked, but he went on,

" – at the reunion. Rowan pulled me and the old man aside. Can't say I was totally surprised –"

"What?" She balked at him, physically leaning farther away.

Jake kept his eyes on the surf for a moment. "Before you knock my head off, just listen. You know as well as anyone the busy, demanding, stressful lifestyle your dad has. A guy his age, he's bound to have a weaker immune system because of it."

"Jake, I really don't s –"

"Hear me out, I've talked to Charles about this, and he seems to think I'm dead on the money."

"With what?"

"Your dad got cancer from Swyndell."

She raised startled eyes to him, and after a few tense moments, he returned her stare. "What? How can you be so sure?"

"Isn't it rather obvious, Liv? He's spent more than a decade going back and forth to that place and…I uh…happen to be privy to some information about the rate of new cancer cases in Swyndell…"

"And?"

"…let's just say 'epidemic' is putting it nicely."

"Oh my God…" She looked at him worriedly, wondering why – and _how _– this hadn't been released to the press yet.

As if reading her thoughts, he went on. "Of course, what I just told you is _beyond _confidential info. Hell, I'm not even supposed to know. But there are those in the U.N. who don't want a full blown panic over this. Swyndell's bid to become a member pretty much hangs on this information staying off the public's radar. Billions in relief aid would dry up quicker than a spilled canteen on the Sahara."

She balked at that. "They'd actually leave millions of people to fend for themselves like that? The U.N.?"

Jake's sarcastic laugh spoke volumes. "You forget, Liv? Swyndell's 'Savage Country'. When they established themselves as a sovereign nation and spit in the face of the rest of the world to do it, they burned some pretty big and powerful bridges. But they're not unlike a lot of other struggling young countries, in that respect. It's the combination of skin color, the safe haven for _mixed _races that makes it different."

His odd tone escaping her attention, Olivia was shaking her head, half in disbelief and half in anger. Living a mostly privileged life, she'd had few experiences with the very real prejudice and outright racism that many others faced.

"No wonder Swyndell's all he's talked about for years. Every time we spoke – over the phone, in letters, whatever – he mentioned his work there. I didn't realize the problems were so serious, I guess." Olivia thought out loud.

Jake shifted his weight to his other foot and continued, "Yeah, but it's probably all that time there that's the cause of his cancer. I mean, you know it just seems to pick one person over another sometimes, but I've talked with Charles and some other doctors. They seem to think there's some kind of chemical, _something_, being used there that's causing all of this."

Olivia was silent, thinking of her father's humanitarian efforts, and what it had gotten him. Deep down there was a part of her that had oftentimes resented other people, like those of Swyndell; it was an emotion she tried tiem and again to dispel over the years. Olivia realized it was completely irrational, but that possessive, frightened little girl in her wouldn't let it go so easily.

"I supposed there is a bright side, though…" Jake's voice brought her around.

"That being?"

"There've been some promising preliminary reports from Jackie's team at the Harrison Island Research Facility. They think they're close to a breakthrough –"

She turned hopeful, wide eyes to him, but he raised a hand quickly.

" – a _vaccine_, Liv. If they're right, it could save millions."

"Hm." She smiled appropriately at that, holding her tongue.

"Well, ain't ya'll the perfect couple…"

They looked down, catching the sight of Marcella below on the beach as she jogged in place. Olivia watched as she came up the patio and asked, "Hey. Can we talk for a minute?"

With a sidelong glance at Jake, Marcella continued her rhythmic breathing. "Later, sis. Ah smell breakfast an' ah'm _starvin'_."

"Marcella…" Olivia began, but let her go. More to herself than to Jake, Olivia murmured, "That can't be good…"

He started past her, grabbing his paper from the chair and shook his head. "God, you two are _so _alike."

"What the hell are you getting at?" She retorted, but he only glanced back briefly before heading toward the kitchen behind Marcella.

Olivia sighed heavily, leaning against the rail as she looked out over the water. The information Jake had given her was a bit much to take in at once, but her thoughts kept returning to the sacrifices her father had made for the causes he believed in.

_You know, you could stand to follow his example a little more…_

As she spied pieces of debris still on the beach below, Olivia suddenly got a bright idea.

_It's not quite on a global scale, but still…_

With a glance back toward the house, Olivia hurried down the stairs, and down the beach at a jog.

**About an hour or so later, **she slowed to a walk as she approached the beach house, smiling tentatively as she spotted the man from earlier that morning. He was standing on the back porch now, and appeared to be cleaning up heavier pieces of debris, some of which blocked the rear entrance of the home.

She was about to call out to him to announce her presence, but when he roughly chucked a large piece of fiberglass over the porch railing, she hesitated. Quietly, Olivia watched him as he stared hard at the exterior of the house. His shoulders rose and fell beneath the t-shirt like he was out of breath, his wild dark hair in disarray as he seemed to stare straight through the wall. Unsure what to do next, she took a step closer, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what happened next.

The man's right hand clenched suddenly, the tendons and veins of his forearm contracting and visible to her even at that distance. He started shaking his head, slowly at first, as if he were disagreeing with something being said. Again and gain his fist clenched, faster and faster. Finally his back muscles bunched convulsively beneath the tattered shirt, and his fist stiffened –

Olivia jumped at the sound as he reared his arm back and struck the side of the house. Her legs felt like jell-O, and she stumbled backwards in the sand as the wind blew past her.

Fitz cursed at himself bitterly, having been so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed he had an 'audience' until the breeze brought a whiff of vanilla past his nose. Now he stared at her hard, and slowly withdrew his fist from the wall, his knuckles stinging. He lowered his arm, turning to face her fully.

Olivia felt like a deer in headlights as he came to the edge of the porch, his eyes catching the early morning rays with a dangerous gleam as he flexed his wrist. Several tense moments passed, as Olivia's pulse seemed to pound from within her throat. Some part of her mind screamed at her to flee, to get the fuck outta Dodge.

_Why the hell aren't you moving?_

Fitz watched her intently, unsure if she was just crazy or had more balls than half the people he'd had the displeasure of crossing paths with in the last six months. When he realized her shaking slightly, he could tell for sure.

_Nope. Just scared stupid._

_Yes, I know Swyndell is a dumb name for a country, but I am terrible at creating names for places. I'm sorry this wasn't up yesterday – it would have been, had FFN not decided to act up. So Fitz is now __**permanently **__in this story – how do you guys think that will go? And Rowan and Olivia's backstory…so he hasn't always had her! I can promise that if you still have any questions about their past, there will be plenty more explanations in the following chapters._

_Thank you LoreneMichelle41, freckled98, kelleekelkell, valkel00, SpinningMoreDreams, ShaunV76, apolonialust, jazzywhoa, lilysunshine, and my guest reviewers for the wonderful reviews. I love hearing what you guys have to think – and the guesses for where this story will go. - Mae_


	6. Chapter 6

**First Impressions, part 3**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 5: "First Impressions, pt. 3"_

As the early morning breeze came off the sea, it carried enough information to Fitz's heightened awareness, thanks to his military training, of his surroundings and body language to know that they were carrying on a conversation and Olivia didn't know it. Her body was statuesque as she stood rooted in place a few yards away from him on the beach. He had only moved to the edge of the back porch's patio; standing on the edge as he kept a watchful eye on her.

At their closer proximity, he was better able to confirm what he'd already suspected earlier that morning, but he was waiting for her to make the first move; if his military training had taught Fitzgerald "Fitz" Grant, III one thing, it was to never let on what you know…especially upon first impressions.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Olivia blinked, her eyes moving slowly from his arm to his face. She braced her back against the strong wind blowing behind her, trying to convince herself that it was the chill of the morning that ran down her back; not what she'd just witnessed, or the almost feral look in the man's eye.

"I…uh, I'm s –sorry, I…"

"I said, what do you want? I'm busy." He never took his eyes off her, but reached a hand into his pocket to take out the half-smoked stub of a cigar, and put it in his mouth, chewing around it as he visually pierced her.

Choosing for the moment to ignore what she'd just seen (maybe they could pretend she hadn't witnessed it if she didn't mention it?), Olivia took a single step closer to him, crossing her arms in a very obvious nervous way.

"I don't want to keep you, sir. I'll be quick; I just wanted to speak with you about the mess."

His baby blue eyes hardened for a brief moment, as he gave her an expression that said he couldn't believe she was actually 'going there'.

"Look, I've gotten all the letters I can stand from you Home Owners Association mother –"

"I'm not from The Association," she spoke above his curse, stepping forward quickly in reassurance.

Of course he knew that.

"Hmph. I was going to say…" he muttered anyway, leaning against the wooden column briefly before standing back up straight. "So who _are _you with, then?"

Olivia dared to keep coming closer, until they were only a few feet apart; he remained standing on the top step of the back porch, and she was directly below him on the sand below the last step. They evaluated each other for the longest time, as she correctly decided to choose her words more carefully with this man.

"I'm not 'with' anyone, sir. I just thought that you could use some help, after the storm last night, cleaning up some of the mess. I just came to offer…"

Her words trailed off as he continued to stare her down. Suddenly, Olivia began to think better of her decision to 'heal the world, one house at a time'. As for Fitz, he was still trying to figure her out himself. Her disposition indicated that she was uncomfortable, but he wasn't convinced it was for the reason he initially believed. Rather than open that particular can of worms, he decided that if she didn't bring _it_ up, then neither would he.

"So, that's what you're up to? Got a house-cleaning gig going?"

She almost laughed, but wasn't totally convinced he was not joking. Reaching a hand out to grasp the weathered railing of the steps before her, Olivia looked back up at him, a somewhat wry smile on her face.

"Not quite. But…I'd like to lend a helping hand, if it's alright?"

He almost asked her why, but could tell quite easily that that particular question was one she wished to avoid. Still somewhat wary of her, Fitz cocked his head to one side and said simply, "No."

He visibly saw her disposition fall in disappointment, then she closed her mouth, nodding in silent resolution. He had so many walls built up around his feelings, this barely made a dent in his steely reserve. Olivia let go of the railing, beginning to back up one step. She looked back up at him, a small – if not forced – smile on her face as she said, "Alright…I'm sorry to have troubled you, Mr…?"

All she got out of Fitz was a firm grunt and a curt nod, as he completely ignored the implied question at the end of her statement. The cigar was rolled between his lips as he watched her back away, then turn back toward the way she'd come. Not once did she even turn back to look his way; Fitz, however, never took his eyes off of her as she retreated. Truth be told, he had been mildly surprised, and was proud of himself for not showing it. The striking young woman seemed oblivious…for that, he was glad, because at that moment he really didn't feel up to any more trips down memory lane.

His face told an old story – a memory refreshed. Shaking his head slowly, he dismissed the thought running through his mind, and reached in his pocket for his favorite lighter, bringing it up to the remnants of his cigar as he turned back into the dark house.

**Sometime later that morning, **Olivia came back into the main house, her steps heavy with some disappointment. On one hand, she was slightly vexed at the attitude the mysterious stranger had given her, but then, as she'd walked slowly back home, she gave herself pause to think about what she had been able to do. Surprised at herself, she shook her head in self-admonishment.

_You didn't even know that guy! Geez, he could have been some mass-murderer or something._

She didn't honestly believe so, but that point was brought home anyway.

_Well, it was a good idea, anyway. _She chuckled to herself, heading up the stairs toward her father's room. If all she needed was good ideas for philanthropy, she knew _exactly _where to get them. And as for the stranger on the beach? She was curious, she had to admit.

She would have to remember to ask her father about him later.

_I thought really hard about uploading the next chapter alongside this one, because of the length, but I know that if I do, some of you will be upset if I leave the cliffhanger at the end of the next chapter. So __**tomorrow**__, I will be uploading __**two **__chapters to make up for the length of this one. _

_So Fitz pushed Olivia away! What did you guys think about that? I know it may seem like the two are moving very slowly, but having gone through what Fitz did, some of which you guys know, and knowing what he does about his past with Olivia, it's understandable. I __**promise **__once you see how Fitz plays a part of Olivia's past, you will understand why he isn't so willing to form __**any **__kind of relationship with her at first. _

_Thank you to my lovely reviewers: valkel00, janetslilmama, freckled98, kelleekellkell, noro, LoreneMichelle41, apollonialust, SpinningMoreDreams, and my guest reviewer. - Mae_


	7. Chapter 7

**Choices and Decisions, part 1**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 6: "Choices and Decisions, pt. 1"_

**Southampton Long Island, NY**

**June 29, 2004**

**7:15 a.m.**

Summers at the beach estate of the Pope family were often filled with youthful excitement and an air of the unexpected was the norm. One thing, however, remained the same: waking to mornings filled with the delightful aroma of Mrs. Duvahl's special family recipe for Belgian waffles.

Rubbing his growling belly unconsciously, Jake Ballard bounced down the stairs in his Pope-embossed sweat pants, his eyes searching the seemingly quiet downstairs grand foyer for signs of life. Seeing none, he followed the enticing smell that called to his empty gut, heading for the kitchen (where he was sure others had gotten to breakfast first).

As his mind wandered for the few moments it took to get there, he admitted to himself that he was secretly glad he'd decided to take Rowan up on the hospitable offer of staying there in the mansion as an honored guest, until after the mid-August family reunion took place in a little over a month and a half. It gave him the perfect opportunity to catch up with friends and relive some of his fondest memories from childhood.

He always considered Rowan Pope a second father or uncle-figure; it had been the well-known government official that had changed Jake's life forever – introducing him to all the powerful bigwigs that made his several quick promotions possible.

Pausing in his steps for a brief moment, Jake smiled just a little wistfully; he remembered Olivia outside late one afternoon on the beach, watching the sunset.

Clearing his throat just outside the kitchen entrance, Jake shook away those sorts of thoughts about Olivia. In the past couple of weeks since they'd been 'vacationing' under the same roof, the two former childhood sweethearts had very little to say to each other past informal pleasantries and 'safe' meal-time chatter with the others. Her obvious rebuff of his attempts to get even five minutes alone merely amused the tempered Air Force Captain; Jake knew Olivia well enough that he guessed it was a matter of time before she'd eventually see things his way. And by 'his way', meant simply that Jake knew he'd fucked up what they had before, but intended to smooth things over with a minimal amount of un-masculine pleading and begging. He hadn't come to Southampton without a plan.

"Good morning, everyb –"

A sharp chorus of "Sshhhh!" rang out as an answer from the gathered bodies sitting around one of the countertop islands in the spacious kitchen. Jake raised a brow at the reception, but didn't say a word as he came up behind them. Marcella, David, and Elizabeth were perched on stools drawn up against the island. Tristan had gotten a kitchen chair and pulled it up close to the side, cradling a mixing bowl almost overflowing with a nauseously sweet kids' cereal that he was still spooning into his gullet, despite the fact that his eyes were glued to the screen of the wall-mounted forty-two inch plasma before him.

Just around the corner, Jake caught sight of Mrs. Duvahl and one of the morning-staff cooks, who were still getting breakfast together, but found themselves continuously pausing to watch the television. Curious, he turned back to the screen, watching as the camera panned back to well-known National field journalist James Novak, who stood dressed in light green-grey fatigues, one hand up to the side of his head to brace his wireless mic against the wind. He was outside, that much was sure, but exactly where was unknown, until the crawl at the bottom of the screen spelled things out quite bluntly for him.

"Yes, I'm here, Abby. The wind has kicked up a little due to the helicopters coming in and landing every few moments, so forgive me if I have to speak up a little to get over the noise." James's statement was punctured as the momentarily died-down winds suddenly began to stir up again, and he visibly braced himself, ducking his head down for several seconds.

The screen split in two, as the other journalist – safe in her New York studio 3B set – came into view and with little apparent concern, asked, "That's alright, James. Tell us, what's the atmosphere like down there?"

As a large UH-1 Huey landed behind him, he turned sideways, motioning to the chopper, which the cameraman seamlessly zeroed in on. "Well, Abby, the situation here in Swyndell has definitely deteriorated significantly in the last thirty-six hours. Behind me, you can clearly see helicopters taking off and landing here on the rooftop of the joint U.S.-UK embassy; top officials and their entire staff of aids here have been ordered by their respective governments to leave with no further delay, as civilian rioting escalated overnight and early into the morning."

As the Huey took off behind him, James straightened his posture, and his voice lowered to a normal octave as he continued. "These dignitaries are quickly being replaced by U.N. sanctioned troops, many from the United States and Great Britain, as they try to regain some measure of peace in this civil war-torn country."

Abby's face remained emotionless as she did her best to remain objective. "James, we've been told that the estimates on Swyndali refugees trying to flee the country are in the tens of thousands – perhaps even hundreds of thousands; had you been able to confirm that from Embassy officials before their departure?"

"I'm sorry, Abby, could you repeat that?" James ducked again, as the loudness of another chopper drowned everything out.

In the kitchen, Jake takes the opportunity to try to get some answers of his own. "What the hell's going on?"

"_Shhh!"_ Hands wave him quiet, though no one takes an eye off the screen. Exasperated, he draws up a stool, and plunks himself down dejectedly.

On the screen, Abby repeated her last question to James, who began shaking his head negatively. "As of this moment, those estimates are all we have to go on, Abby. But I can tell you, even as we were flying in over the Atlantic towards the island, several national coast guard agencies were busy attempting to stop civilians from leaving the island. They've commandeered any make-shift flotation devices, boats, yachts, and even a few brave souls who thought to take their chances and swim the distance."

"The situation seems pretty tense, there, James." Several groans in the kitchen mutely indicate the severity of that understatement.

"It is, Abby. Unfortunately for these people, we understand that many surrounding countries have issued statements publicly withdrawing any support for political asylum for Swydali citziens – regardless of whether or not they are carriers of the so-called Yellow Death – a disease that is believed to be transmittable and to cause the rapid growth of cancer cells. We've learned this afternoon that President Pearson intends to make remarks about that very subject, later today."

"Well, thank you James."

"No problem, Abby."

"I understand you'll have an update for us at the end of the hour."

"That's correct. We'll be getting reactions from members of Swyndell's Parliament, as well as civilian reactions. For now, reporting Live, this is James Novak, from the U.S. Embassy at the capital in Goldford Bay, Swyndell."

As the screen squeezed his images out to go back to the studio, where Abby Whelan began a recap and commentary on his report, the kitchen suddenly erupted with chatter from the gathered adults.

"I can't believe this! How can they just strand all those people like that?"

"_Quarantine_, is more like it," Tristan talked through his cereal, chewing loudly.

"Can they actually do that? Keep free citizens on that island against their will?" David turned questioning eyes to them, then looked at Jake.

The Air Force pilot raised a brow, then a shoulder. He kept his mouth shut for a moment, wondering why David had seemingly chosen _him_ of all people to ask that. Scratching his bare arm slowly for a moment, he finally conceded, "It's the U.N…"

Elizabeth eyed him closely for a second, but didn't say anything. She didn't like the vibe he'd involuntarily broadcasted right then, but she wasn't going to put him on the chopping block just yet; the lovely young woman knew that Jake's position in the military afforded him a certain amount of access to sensitive information, and that it wouldn't be fair to try to make him break any oaths he'd taken, no matter how much they all wanted to know what was going on. Turning to David, she interjected, "I think that the reasoning behind that is to keep the rest of the world's population from going into a full-scaled panic. It's easier to keep a couple million infected people in one spot, rather than tens of millions, if not more, isn't it?"

"Well, I don't want to be the devil's advocate, but isn't that the smart thing to do?" Tristan turned questioning eyes their way.

As the others got ready to blast him for such an inconsiderate remark, a voice behind them all interrupted. "Tristan is correct…"

Turning, they saw Charles standing just outside the doorway, already dressed in slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose. His expression was stern, but sympathetic. The group fell silent as he advanced, and Jake especially noted the tired expression behind the young doctor's eyes.

"…Can you imagine the world-wide chaos that would erupt if large numbers of _infected _Swyndali left the island? Most of the public are ignorant of the particulars of Yellow Death; they won't want to be educated either. In this case, right at this moment, I do not believe anyone could get _most _people to believe the truth about how the disease is spread. Rather than have wide-spread panic across the world, the U.N. is treating this 'outbreak' with, eh, a band-aid…a very large band-aid."

Jake turned to Charles fully, asking quietly, "Does Rowan know about this?"

"I think he got a call from the State Department last night." Charles rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then pushed his glasses back up.

"Wait a minute," Marcella stood up from her stool, whirling around to face the doctor. "Why are they calling Dad? _Charles_?"

Jake looked at Charles's face, then, "You can't be serious. He's not actually considering going _back there _in his condition?"

Quietly, Charles came up to the counter, resting his clenched fists on the cool top; he was doing his best to remain objective, due to his official position as his mentor's primary care physician, but as the man's surrogate son, he was a mess of emotions inside. "They _asked_."

Elizabeth laid a hand on Marcella's shoulder as she became visibly agitated. David's eyes widened, as he shook his head in disbelief.

"I can't believe they actually had the nerve," Tristan set his bowl down at this.

"Well, I understand his feelings toward what's going on, but somebody's got to talk some sense into Rowan," Jake said simply, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

Turning to him, Charles said simply, "Olivia's already upstairs."

**At that very moment, **Rowan Pope and his daughter were on opposite sides of the room, and opposite sides of this debate.

Sitting at the small desk in his large master bedroom, Rowan had been dressed for many hours already, as he finished going through some old files on his desk. Standing far away in body and mind, Olivia faced the opening morning, looking at the slightly rough surf her father's bedroom window faced. Her arms were crossed tightly, her expression tight, but she remained quiet…for the moment.

"Olivia, please try to understand. You know this is just as difficult for me." He didn't face her, knowing that if he saw that look on her face, his resolve would probably dissolve. He couldn't bear to see that little girl in her. Besides, this wasn't about them; not when so many others were suffering so terribly.

"Please, Dad, don't say that to me. I'm not here to make you feel guilty."

"That's not what I –"

"Okay. But still…I thought that Charles told you that you needed bed rest _above all else_? Now you're contemplating going back to Swyndell? Especially now, with all the turmoil going on?" She turned her head just barely, though not enough to actually see him. She didn't need to; she could sense the look on his face, where his heart was.

"You know why this is important to me, Olivia." His voice was quiet; almost hauntingly so. It was filled with so much emotion, and unspoken memories, and unfulfilled wishes.

How could she possibly deny him this? Rowan had never asked her for much; just for trust. It was partially what he was asking for even now. The only real question, was whether or not she could get over her own insecurities, to let her father complete this last act of kindness for a suffering people…Yes, she knew why it was especially important to him; that didn't mean she had to like it. "I know."

The room was silent for a long moment, then she heard the wheels of his chair squeal briefly, as they came to rest beside her. A father's warm hand reached out to clasp his daughter's slightly trembling fingers. The flood of emotions that coursed through both of them almost sent tears down her cheeks; everything inside Olivia said that this was wrong; that she should tell Rowan not to go, that those Swyndali be damned – she didn't want to lose her father any quicker than _their _disease was already taking him.

She didn't say those things, but to be truthful, that's exactly how she felt; Rowan knew it, he didn't have to acknowledge it; it was an understanding between father and daughter.

"When will you leave?"

"Lena and I will try to do as much from Washington as we can."

"When?"

"I may not be back in time for the reunion." He knew that was the real answer she was searching for. That, and whether or not he'd die over there in some forsaken country. But Olivia wasn't ready to ask the latter…not yet.

They stayed there in front of the window for a while longer, watching the rising sun glisten over the horizon.

**Later that day; four mile down the beach, **someone had been knocking at the door of the Grant estate's main house for over four minutes. It was the only person brave (or stupid) enough to do so; even the neighbors who'd known the Grants years ago, when there was the refreshing sound of young laughter in the backyard, knew better than to do that these days.

But then, Ben Campbell's mother always did call him a stubborn mule.

"Colonel Grant! Sir, it's Ben! Ben Campbell!" He'd announced who he was three times now, but still no sign of the Colonel. He was about to give up when he got a sudden thought. Rapping on the open door once more, he called out, "I've got a message from HQ, sir…it's about the _trip_ you were going to take?"

He hadn't even finished that sentence before the door was swung open harshly, rattling the windows and the frame. Fitz emerged from the depths of the house, his eyes cold and very hard, despite the fact that he was looking at his protégé. Without a word, Fitz reached out and took the letter Ben was still holding up in the hand he hadn't been knocking with, and turned around, going back into the house. The fact that he left the door open told Ben he could come or stay – Grant really didn't care (which was saying a lot, considering).

The young man gingerly entered the abode, stepping carefully over the mess in the front foyer and into the small study just off of it, where Fitz had gone, opening the letter with the flick of his pocket knife, leaving the remnants of the envelope in his wake.

"I've been calling you, emailing you for the past week. When I saw this pass the General's desk this morning, I had to come out and show it to you."

As Fitz read the letter, his blue eyes widened in anger. "_What the fuck._"

"They're giving your assignment to Unada's crew. I heard from one of Acken's assistants that he'd been getting pressure from the Pentagon to get this back on the fast track, especially after all the shit that's going down in Swyndell –"

At that, Fitz raised a puzzled brow at the young man; obviously, catching the evening news had been very low on his list of priorities.

Ben waved it away; however. "Don't worry about that, now. You can get back up to speed; here." He handed Fitz a flash drive on a short rope, unmarked. "I thought you'd want to know. If you _don't _care, just give me the word, we'll pretend like I was never here."

Fitz stood there, holding the letter and the portable drive. Maybe this was just the thing to get his mind off of shit…He could just as well bury himself into work as this dirty-ass house with all its broken promises, painful memories and haunted ghosts.

Tossing the flash drive to Ben, he pointed toward the iMac on the desk, which hadn't been used in close to a year, but had managed to survive the decimation of the house. (Luckily for him, his bills were paid through auto bill-pay, or he'd be truly living in the dark ages – no lights, water, heat or internet). "Boot that piece of shit up."

Ben turned to the desk, as Fitz headed for the bathroom. Once by himself, Fitzgerald Grant stared into the mirror in the downstairs bathroom. He looked worse than death warmed over, that much was true. If he was going to convince Ackens and his higher-ups that he was serious about taking on this mission, he need to get his act together. Unfortunately, his 'act' included getting over the death of his baby girl. At that moment, that wasn't something Fitz wanted to touch.

Reaching into his dirty undershirt, he pulled out his dog tags. Unknown to his superiors at the Pentagon, he'd secretly taken one of his U.S. military tags, and replaced it with another. Now he looked at that tag and the coded inscription on the back of it. '_Just one fucking phone call, bud. That's all it'll take.'_

With slightly trembling fingers, he dropped the tags back into his shirt, and sent his thoughts anywhere but where they'd just been. He wasn't ready to go there. Not just yet.

**The Pope Estate, about 6:24 p.m. that evening**

The day had been much too somber for the gathered members of Rowan's extended family. By now most of them had gone into the city, trying to escape – if only for one night – the thought that the family Patriarch would be leaving them soon (perhaps in more ways than one).

He had insisted that his children and former students _"have a good time and don't come back until you do"_. Most of them had obliged, for his sake as well as their own. But there was one child who could not be consoled; who refused her father's wishes that night. Right at that moment, she sat outside on the wide patio facing the beach, her long, graceful brown legs drawn up to the knees, which she rested her chin on as her eyes watched the rolling Atlantic come in and recede repetitively. It was that rhythmic action that was helping her to keep her emotions in check.

"I thought I'd find you out here again." That voice; however, threatened that calm.

"Jake, you should know better than most, I'm not in the mood." She barely spoke above a whisper, but knew he heard her, as he came to stand beside her reclining chair.

"Come on, Liv. I come in peace." He held one hand over his heart, the other up with his palm showing, trying to look very trustworthy.

She glanced up at him, and suddenly just didn't have the energy to fight with him. Their petty arguments and the decline of their friendship/romance seemed so trivial at that moment. She was still mad at him, but she needed someone who understood what she was going through right then. Jake would have to do (at least until Marcella and Elizabeth got home).

At her lack of a negative response, he took that as an affirmative, and pulled up one of the wider chairs, able to fit two, so he could spread out his legs comfortably. "So, I guess you didn't feel much like partying either, eh?"

She scoffed lightly at that, she wouldn't have exactly used that term to describe what the others were doing. "No, not really."

Jake remained silent for a moment, just looking at her profile, which told him a lot about her mood and where her thoughts were. Slowly, he reached out a hand, and covered hers. "Hey…"

She looked at him, her eyes full of pain. They just stared at each other for a few seconds, until Olivia felt herself giving in, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. He tugged on her wrist a little, but she shook her head. Deep down, Olivia still didn't trust herself – her emotions – around Jake. She saw that he was trying to comfort her, but after all this time, she didn't know how to treat it.

Jake kept her gaze, trying to show her he was serious; he was there for her if she wanted to lean on him. "It's alright. Isn't that what friends are for?"

She let out a little chuckle at his blatant plagiarism, more tears following.

Above them, the skies darkened with the coming of night. A light misty rain showered them, but Jake didn't move, his eyes watching her intently.

Searching his eyes, she finally caved, and reached over, crawling onto the chair with him, settling against the crook of his arm as he held her close, letting her cry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Choices and Decisions, part 2**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 7: "Choices and Decisions, pt. 2"_

**Southampton, Long Island, NY**

**July 2, 2004**

**11:39 a.m.**

PFC Ben Campbell looked around the downstairs area of Colonel Grant's house, inwardly impressed with the clean up job thus far. He had been back to Grant's place for the past four days helping his mentor clean up the 'less than attractive' surroundings he was currently living in. The next morning, Fitz would be expecting a visit from General Ackens and some suit from the Pentagon; curious to see for themselves whether or not the man was indeed back to his 'old' self. If they only knew, even Fitzgerald Grant sometimes did not know what that felt like.

"Place looks pretty damn good to me," Ben called out, tying up the full garbage bag at his feet and tossing it toward the kitchen foyer where at least a dozen more waited.

_At least you can see the floor now_, he thought ruefully.

"Yeah…you do good work, kid." Fitz was taking a smoke break, leaning against the door to the beachside entrance out back. He watched the surf a little distracted, as white smoke curled out of his mouth and nostrils from the cigar. He hadn't planned on doing _any _cleaning, actually, until Ben made the point of how it would look to the General to see him living in such squalor; how was he to convince any of them he was 'back' while living like a senile recluse?

"No problem, sir. Glad I could help. I just hope they don't open any closets or anything," Ben chuckled a little, thinking of the strategic places they'd found to put some of the mess and filled trash bags. With the city's refuse services out for the holiday until Tuesday, they decided to run the most foul of the clean up to one of the nearby dumpsters down the road themselves, where the public beach began again, and let some of the others stay well hidden from lack of time.

"Trust me, they won't." Fitz assured him, knowing that while Jason Ackens was no one's fool, he also knew better than to challenge Fitz on his own turf – stripes or no stripes. Besides, he got the impression from Ackens over the phone that the General was only too glad to believe that his star special missions agent was all better and 'sucking it up like a man', so to speak.

"Mind if I get another beer?" Ben headed to the kitchen, where the remainder of a chilled six-pack was resting in the small Styrofoam container he'd brought half-filled with ice on the counter.

"Go ahead."

As he stood there gulping down the Irish brew (which he'd initially found not to his taste, but was quickly warming up to as the days had gone by), he had a sudden thought and reached over to pull the door to the large – and now cleaned – stainless steel refrigerator. Yep. Just as he'd thought…

"Uh, sir."

Fitz's head lowered, as he turned to the side a little without actually coming in the door. He could hear the slight rustling noise inside the kitchen from the other side of the foyer, and wondered briefly what Ben was looking for. "Yeah."

"When's the last time you went grocery shopping."

"You're looking in the damn thing. You tell me."

"_Yeeaah, _see, you might want to put something _edible _in here; so it looks like you actually do more than just drink warm beer and order take-out." The refrigerator door closed, and the single container of Arm &amp; Hammer baking soda was once again left in peace.

Fitz actually snickered at that, shaking his head defiantly. "Hey, the keys to the Jeep are in the hall. Have at it, kid."

"Ohhh, no." After a moment, Ben showed up at the threshold, holding the keys in question – holding them out to the Colonel. "Not me, sir."

Fitz gave a look intended to maim, at least, and kept smoking. "What, you'll clean up after me but won't do my fucking shopping? _Phfft!_"

"No offense, Colonel, but don't you think it's time you got out of this house for a while?"

Fitz didn't respond to that quiet inquiry. Suddenly, he wasn't so glad to have his own personal shadow in the form of his young protégé; the kid was getting to know him too well.

"Quick trip to the market and back, get some air, and done. Hell, dinner's even on me."

Fitz sighed, finished the cigar and turning to gaze at Ben. He knew what the young man said made sense; after all, how was he going to sell the 'new and improved' Fitz to Ackens and the others, if he still wouldn't even come outside his own home? Still, he didn't have to like it. Grabbing the keys roughly, he turned to the inside of the house, brushing past Ben and grabbing the man's collar along with him as he headed toward the garage.

"Deal. But you're coming with me, smart ass."

**A few hours earlier that morning, down the beach**

The spacious kitchen at the Pope Estate was quiet, which was quite an accomplishment considering the number of people that now inhabited the estate. The wings of the mansion's main house were quickly becoming occupied by later arrivals for the still-planned family/class reunion. Although a few of the earlier arrivals had had to temporarily take leaves due to unforeseen circumstances, they all intended to return, as this year's celebration was symbolically – and literally – an important one. Word had traveled quickly and everyone knew about Rowan's decision in no time. It cast a somewhat somber air over the event, and so he'd insisted that the days leading up to his departure be filled with as many festivities as possible.

Grimacing slightly, Olivia sat hunched over at the island counter top in the kitchen, a hot mug of very caffeinated French-vanilla flavored coffee between her hands. She could hear the voices of some of the younger students – many of whom were still actively attending the Westchester school – as they taunted each other during a 'playful' game of volleyball on the beach out back. Even with the sturdy, insulated walls, their high squeals of laughter and excitement hurt her already pounding head.

"Late night, sugah?"

The slightly older Pope sister raised her bent head, the quick action sending sharp pains down her throbbing temples and into her neck. "Marcella…please, don't yell."

As she came closer, Olivia's sister planted a hand on her hip, watching with a mixture of 'I told you so' amusement and 'I can't believe you!' admonishment. Drawing up a stool – scraping it against the floor just a little – Marcella plunked down beside her sister, leaning in close.

"Olivia, hun, a mime in space would be too loud for you, after the night I heard you had. Or should I say…you and Jake?"

Slightly dulled brown eyes slid from over the mug to rest on Marcella for a bare moment, then faced forward again, focusing on a spot on the wall across the kitchen. "Checking up on me?"

"Hrmph."

"We were just out dancing; having a little fun, you know? I think we're allowed." Olivia sipped her coffee again, as the distraction of Marcella's nosiness took her mind off of her splitting headache.

"Uh-huh, next you'll tell me 'we're just' friends, Marcella. Jake doesn't want _back _in _that_."

"_Marcella_!" Olivia's eyes took hers sharply at that comment. "Geez, sometimes you can really be such a…a _man_." She felt her cheeks burn a little though, and turned her attention back to her mug, using a long (scalding) drag as a good distraction, and an excuse not to address that tasteless note. Though she'd told Marcella a fair amount about her relationship with Jake back then, there were _some _things even the omniscient Marcella didn't know.

The younger sister wasn't quite done, however, or so easily swayed. She was often called a pitbull – playfully by her friends and sister, less so by her enemies. "Look, Liv, I just don't want to see you get hurt…_again_. I mean, I know that deep – deep, deep, _deep_ – down, Jake's a good guy. But sometimes, those 'good guys' let their 'little guys' get in the way of good old common-ass sense when it comes to women."

With a sort of weary smirk, Olivia retorted, "Now are we still talking about Jake?"

"Hey, Nathan isn't the only one who threw over something good for a piece of trash." Marcella sniffed, her luminous dark green eyes flashing just as the thought of her tumultuous relationship with the French film star.

At that, Olivia became quiet, as her sister's forceful reminder of exactly why she and Jake had ended in the first place so long ago, came flooding back with little mercy. She'd wanted to believe that these past days they had had been getting along were about more than Jake Ballard's attempt to reclaim what had been lost almost a decade ago. She really wanted to believe that. Shaking her head at Marcella, she said quietly, "We couldn't go back, Marcella. I know that."

"Yeah? But does Jake?"

**Only a couple hours later that afternoon, **Rowan looked up from the large desk in his downstairs study to see the cautiously excited face of one of his younger students poke through the crack in the heavy mahogany door. Her questioning expression couldn't help but bring a small smile to his face, as he put down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

"Quinn. Come in."

Across the room, Lena only glanced up from the other desk where she'd been doing some internet research on the Powerbook. She sighed quietly with something between mild annoyance and parental amusement as the teen's exuberance bounced her inside and up to Rowan's desk.

"Mr. Pope, I'm really sorry to bother you and all, but like, some of us were wondering if maybe we could have, like, a _little_ teensy weensy uh, 'get together' –"

"You know the rules about _parties_, Quinn…" Lena interrupted dryly, not even looking up from the screen as she kept reading.

Quinn's eyes slid to Lena for a second, knowing that she couldn't have hoped to get anything past the stricter of the two. Looking back to Rowan's bemused expression, she rushed on, "But see, like, it wouldn't _really _be a party, per se. Right? I mean, it's 4th of July weekend, and I – we were thinking maybe some chips, a little dip…couple of sprinklers – you know, celebrate the holiday?"

As Lena inhaled, her mouth opening to dash Quinn's hopes, Rowan glanced at her quickly, a short exchange taking place, and then raised caring, deep chocolate eyes to the spunky adolescent. "Quinn, I understand your excitement. We can't disturb our neighbors down the beach, however…"

Her shoulders fell, her inner firecracker fizzling out like she'd been doused with a pail of water. But Rowan wasn't finished,

"_But_, I don't see why we can't celebrate Independence Day as well. Speak with Mrs. Duvahl; she'll handle the refreshments –"

"Oh, thanks Mr. Pope! Thanks so much!" She ran around the desk, pouncing on him in her enthusiasim, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing the top of his stubbled head before jetting toward the door. With a sudden thought, though, she put on her brakes, turning back to test her incredible luck once more. "Uh, can we go into town to get some supplies? Just a few?"

"We have Help that can do that sort of thing." Rowan raised a brow.

"Please? A mini-field trip? We'll be good."

"Very well." he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief that he was actually agreeing to this. She hopped in the air a little, clapping her hands and turning for the hall. With a sudden thought, he called after her, "Only a small group! And at least three chaperones! Quinn!"

She was already on cloud nine. "Sure! Thanks!" her voice rang from farther away than he would've thought she'd be able to run that quickly.

_What have I gotten into?_ Rowan smirked, looking back to his paperwork as a slight feeling of someone watching him pushed itself into his mind. When he looked up again, Lena was eyeing him.

"Rowan –"

"Lena, please. Don't start. Besides, what harm could it do? They just want to celebrate the holiday. Under the circumstances, I think it's quite appropriate."

Rowan's wife, and friend, gave him a 'look', then pushed her comfortable chair away from the desk, turning to face him. "You've never let them do something like this before. I can't help but think –"

Rowan gazed at her seriously, knowing where she was going with that thought. The sudden fatigue in his eyes stopped Lena; however, who didn't wish to upset him any further than the conversation already had. Rowan didn't need Lena's observation; he realized his current situation was at the root of his somewhat relaxed attitude toward the visiting students and his daughters.

Since the night Olivia had discovered his condition, the resulting fallout seemed to touch everyone; it hit home with so many of them, who knew vaguely of what Rowan's disease meant, but not really what to expect. He hated to admit it, but he was afraid that the manner in which his daughter had publicly dealt with the news, in some ways may have negatively impacted some of the others more than first realized.

Point of fact, he blamed himself for the shroud of mourning that had taken over the reunion; no longer so much a festivity as much as it was a wake. Compounding the issue was his recent decision to depart to war-torn Swyndell; something very unpopular with his daughters and students alike. Considering their feelings, a little leeway right then didn't seem like such a terrible thing, was it?

"Lena…" Rowan paused, he usually didn't censor himself with his wife, but lately they had not been seeing eye to eye on things; rather than get into an argument – which would surely take more energy than ultimately worth – Rowan found himself choosing his battles (and words) more carefully. "…it's alright. Just…let it be alright, okay?"

Hearing the plea behind that awkward request, Lena knew what Rowan was really asking. With an audible sigh, she suddenly looked up at Rowan and said, "You know…I feel sorry for the chaperones."

Unable to help himself, Rowan burst into laughter, and the couple simultaneously thanked the heavens it would not be them.

**A little over an hour later at the Food Emporium, **Olivia, Jake, Marcella, and Tristan did their best to conceal the gaggle of teens in an orderly fashion through the insanely busy supermarket. Initially, Jake had the idea that the little trek wouldn't take them very long, until Marcella pointed out that it was two days before one of the biggest barbeque days in the country, and wagered how many people he thought had been waiting until the last minute…

"Son of a…" Jake muttered under his breath, trying to maneuver one of their two quickly-filling shopping carts through the throng of bodies, down the aisles they needed. How had he let himself get wrapped up in this shopping spree from Hell?

"CC, slow down with the cart, please."

That was how. He watched Olivia squeeze through a couple of shoppers who'd stopped to check out a free sample table, and hurry to catch up with Cecilia Kingston as the teen 'drove' the cart much like she did the student driver car earlier that year to get her learner's permit.

As he made a beeline to follow her, he shook his head at himself. Initially, he'd thought this little outing would allow them some quality time together outside the confines of the Estate where interested eyes were always watching. However, the moment he'd suggested that they volunteer to take Quinn and the others to get their supplies for this 'non'-party (as Lena had stressed before they left) Marcella had quickly volunteered herself and Tristan as well; giving Jake a very clear message via eye contact: 'Oh no you don't, Slick Willie'.

The entire ride over in the Suburban, he'd had to concentrate more on driving and keeping the rambunctious teens in check than his plan of cozying up to Liv. After their late night of dancing (and maybe a few too many Cosmos for her) the night before, he'd actually thought they were heading back to the way things used to be. She didn't avoid him anymore; she'd seemed glad when he suggested they go on this God-awful trip in town; she'd even laughed at some of his worst jokes, which was always a good sign with a woman.

"Try to keep up, Joke." Marcella's bare arm brushed his as she and Tristan came up to his cart, tossing in some more bags of potato and vegetable chips and other snacks.

Ignoring the bastardization of his name, he replied, "You know, you're _so _right, Marcella. Here, you and Tristan can take over cart duty –"

"What?" She barely got out before he abandoned them and the cart, rushing off in the direction she knew would lead him to her sister.

Beside her, Tristan snickered, pushing her toward the handle bar of the cart, and whistling to himself as he started walking away.

"Oh no you don't, mister." She pulled the hem of his polo, still looking in Jake's retreating direction.

"Hey, Marcella," Tristan paused as they started forward, giving her a once over, "why are you hating on Jake so bad? You're 'blocking' like hell, you know."

"Men." She grumbled, giving him a sharp glare at his crude comment. "That's _exactly _why I'm 'hating' on him. He needs to stay the hell away from my sister. No-good ass."

That only got another snicker from Tristan, as the two rushed to catch up with the rest of the group.

Across the wide supermarket, Olivia had managed to get Quinn, CC, Samantha, Heidi, and Paige all in one place simultaneously and she was doing her best to keep them that way. They were only missing two others – Janson and Morgan – who'd she'd sent to go get 2-Liters. Proud of herself, she strategically dolled out shopping assignments for the rest of them, all within eyesight of where she stood next to the fresh fruits and veggies stands.

With a moment to herself, she picked up two pieces of exotic fruit she'd never seen before, examining their prickly, purple and yellow spotted surfaces, then raised one to her nose for a smell It was sweet, and she was in the mood to experiment, so she turned to find one of the fresh bags to hold fruit – and promptly collided with someone standing behind her.

"I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" She dropped one piece of fruit as she reached a hand out to the young man, who'd stumbled back a couple paces.

He did the exact same motion, then chuckled a little at their same thought as he straightened himself up. "No problem, ma'am; and you?"

Olivia smiled at his politeness, turning to see where the dropped piece had rolled off. "I'm fine, thanks. Just missing a piece…of…"

Her eyes spied the runaway fruit, and a pair of dark boots parked right next to it. As her gaze came up, she began to recognize the body they belonged to

_Well, I don't believe it._

Pushing the half-filled shopping cart forward a little and bending down to retrieve the errant piece of fruit, Fitz came back up, and locked gazes with her, his head cocked to one side but his expression unreadable.

As he walked up to where she and Ben stood, he was inwardly amused at her reaction to seeing him, and tried not to show it. He watched her carefully, as his training unconsciously told him to remember things about her. Taking in her appearance, he couldn't help but be a little impressed with her beauty. Something about the way she stood, her back very straight, but natural; her head high but not condescending.

He remembered the plain sweat pants and the sweatshirt she'd worn when she'd shown up to his house the second time. It did nothing to take away from her attractiveness, but as he saw her now – with a straw sunhat topping her loose, dark locks, the dark blue, backless apron shirt top exposing her smooth brown shoulders, a straight-hemmed cargo skirt that reached her ankles and split just above the knee on the left side, and those heel-less sandals laced up to her slim and shapely calves – Fitz had to admit, if only to himself, how breathtaking she was.

"I think you dropped this." His deep-timbered voice was smoother than he typically spoke, as he enjoyed the surprised expression on her face.

"Uhm, thank you." Olivia blinked a couple of times, hardly believing that a (nearly) clean shave and a bath had resulted in the impressive male specimen before her now. He didn't at all look like the lost, dejected soul she'd met on the beach days before. Dressed in a crisp white, long-sleeved shirt buttoned only up to his collarbone and fitting blue jeans with his hiking boots, the man she'd initially thought was homeless looked anything but.

As he stepped up to place the piece of fruit in her hand, a mild electric shock jolted both of them.

Fitz and Ben turned then, walking away, leaving the surprised beauty utterly speechless in their wake. Olivia looked down at the piece of fruit in her hand, and by sheer happenstance caught the little sticker on it. Rolling her eyes, she chuckled to herself. It was a hybrid: Pineapple and _Passion Fruit_, to be exact.

"Olivia?"

She jumped, almost dropping the fruit again, and then turned to see Jake walking up to her with Janson and Morgan close in tow. As they loaded the basket, Olivia turned to them to head back toward the registers.

Several yards away, Fitz turned back just once, to see the tall brown-haired man standing very close to her, in an unmistakably possessive way. He put two and two together with the teens standing with them, and mentally shrugged. However, he also couldn't believe he'd run into her again like this; Fitz wasn't a superstitious man, but everything natural in him said this wasn't just chance.

"Colonel? I said, do you know her?" Ben stopped when Fitz had turned back, curious at the older man's strange behavior.

For a long pause, Fitz considered that question honestly. A somber memory passed his mind's eye, which he sternly brushed back into its place along with the rest of the images that sometimes troubled him late at night. Fixing Ben with an odd stare, he finally answered,

"No."

_Well there you have it – your two chapters for today. It looks like Jake can't take the hints that Marcella continues to throw his way. How do you guys think that will play out for Olivia? All she wants is a friend, and he can't help but throw himself at her. _

_We're two chapters away from the beginning of a relationship between Fitz and Olivia – so there is a possibility that you may get another double update __**tomorrow**__._

_As always, thank you to my reviewers: reneeharris49,kelleekellkell,valekl00,noro,apollonialust, freckled98, LoreneMichelle41, and my guest reviewer. –Mae _


	9. Chapter 9

**Choices and Decisions, part 3**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 8: "Choices and Decisions, pt.3"_

**Southampton Long Island, NY**

**July 2, 2004**

**About 7:15 p.m.**

As the early evening shadows began to lengthen, the excitement and anticipation around the Pope Estate was just getting started. The gathered students and the daughters of the well known philanthropist had done their level bests to turn the usually quiet beachside mansion into a real party place, complete with decorations of red, white, and blue; unopened boxes of fireworks and enough food to feed a small army.

_Non-party. Riiight…_ Jake shook his head as he surveyed the gluttony of food on the five tables set up outside on the expansive patio. As he watched, Tristan and Janson were setting up a sixth to use expressly for drinks. All around him the younger students were busy making Rowan's summer home look as festive as possible, and having fun doing it. As he leaned against the patio's rail, he saw Quinn, CC, and David separating some handheld sparklers into groups, tying them off with festively-colored ribbons for later that night, once the real fireworks began down at the public beach.

"This is really shaping up, isn't it?" Tristan came up beside him, dusting his hands off with a grin.

Jake chuckled, reaching across one of the tables to grab a small handful of chips. Popping a couple into his mouth, he chewed around his response. "Yeah, well I have a sneaking suspicion that this isn't _quite _what Rowan and Lena had in mind when they approved this little shin-dig."

"It isn't _that _much, is it?" Tristan looked around them, doubting it before his gaze took in the full extent of the preparations and then reminded himself that most of the food wasn't even out there yet. Then, he only whistled lowly, stifling a laugh.

Jake nodded. "Yeah, that about sums it up. And I'm not even going to tell you what all this ended up costing at the store."

"It's worth it, you'll see." Quinn flew past them, carrying the disposable dinnerware in her arms to the table set up for the drinks. Giving Jake her brightest smile, she piped, "And wait until you taste some of the desserts Ms. Pope is fixing up – This is going to be the best p – uh, 'get together', ever!"

"We're going to have a hard time matching this next month," Tristan chuckled, looking to Jake.

The older man was a little distracted, however, at the mention of Olivia. His gaze was aimed in the direction of the back door leading from the patio to the house, where he knew the current object of his affection was coordinating the group's dessert efforts. His thoughts flashed back to their grocery shopping adventure earlier that day, and how distracted she'd seemed afterwards on the ride home. He'd asked her why she seemed a million miles away, but only managed to get a vague response before having to turn his attention back to the giddy teens behind him, who were trying not to get caught breaking into some of the packaged goodies they'd just bought. Since then, she'd disappeared almost completely, between duties in the kitchen with Mrs. Duvahl and checking up on Rowan.

At the mention of her now, Jake found himself headed back in the direction of the delicious smell of baked goods coming from the kitchen, hoping to catch her there.

Inside, Olivia stood at one of the counters, hand-mixing a large bowl of thick yellow liquid. Facing away from the door and the rest of the busy kitchen, she seemed more in deep thought than actually cooking, dressed down in a simple v-neck shirt and jeans. Tied at her neck and waist was her favorite apron, one Marcella had gotten her years before that was personally embroidered with 'Respect the Chef', complete with a large gavel stitched within the words. Olivia may have decided to teach, but law was still her forte.

Unknown to her (and the others were too busy to notice), she'd been whipping that bowl for close to ten minutes, when the directions specifically required only three. The sudden cramp in her fingers was the only thing that got her attention, and she looked down at the now soupy concoction in her arms, slightly peeved at herself. Setting down the bowl, she wiped her hands on her apron, and reached for the small baking pan that had been set out for her.

She couldn't seem to get her mind back on track, ever since her run-in with _Mr. Nameless_ at the Emporium. Olivia wasn't even sure exactly why she couldn't seem to get her mind off of him. The shock of his admittedly handsome appearance could only be a part of it, she was sure; after all, he wasn't the first man she'd seen 'clean up' well.

As she poured the mixing bowl batter into the pan, Olivia remembered the piercing, almost intimate way his blue eyes had captured hers; they said something to her, but what exactly, she couldn't comprehend. It was almost as if he were waiting for her to say something; something more than "Uhm, thank you".

Setting the pan inside one of the ovens, she resumed leaning against the counter, slowly wiping her hands again. Her eyes glazed over, as she realized that the real thing bothering her, was that in all her years with her father, all the summer vacations and special occasions at the beach house, this was the first she remembered ever seeing this man – and now, to suddenly come across him two times (three if she counted her attempt to help him clean up) seemed just too much of a coincidence. With a sudden thought, she turned away from the counter to untie her apron.

"Hey, Olivia there you are!"

She turned in some surprise to see Jake walking up behind her, his father's inherited dazzling smile coming out strongly. He was impeccably dressed in Abercrombie &amp; Finch from head to toe, and even Olivia had to admit that he was quite attractive, his hair slightly wind-blown.

"Jake?"

He came up to her and without asking, moved to help her untie the apron. She tried to dissuade him, but he shooed her hands away, gathering her long ponytail together and over her shoulder before proceeding. She hushed and allowed him to help her, rolling her eyes a little at his fussing over her.

"Making your famous lemon bars? Smells great."

"I just put them in, Jake." She gave him a look that she hoped he could read: _Stop trying so hard._

Ballard only chuckled lightly, his fingers at the small of her back as he untied the knot there, slowly and deliberately. Once done, he leaned in close, confusing Olivia momentarily with his intent gaze, but only to take the apron from around her waist. Stepping back a pace, he folded it neatly in his hands, still looking at her. "S'kay. I know they'll still be delicious."

Choosing to ignore the 'special' look he was giving her, Olivia smiled appreciatively, as he offered the folded apron to her. "Thank you."

As she tried to take the bundled cloth, he held onto it, pulling her a step or two closer to him. They stood there with their faces only a few inches apart, as Jake did his level best to rattle her cool cage. For her part, Olivia stood up to his challenge, though her stomach did a small flip at his close proximity.

"No problem." He almost whispered the words, a smile breaking the corners of his soft lips.

"Jake…?"

"Yeah?"

"Mind letting go of my apron?" She smirked at the flash of disappointment in his eyes. Holding the cloth to her securely, she turned to go, but he reached out quickly to stop her, holding onto her wrist with a loose but suggestive clutch. With a single step, Jake was close enough to her back that she could feel his body heat. Without turning, she lowered her chin for a moment, looking around the room to make sure none of the help was watching, and praying that none of the others walked in just then.

"Hey, am I going to see you later?"

"I live here, Jake."

"You know what I mean. I thought we could watch the fireworks together. Maybe go dancing later?" His eyes were bright with anticipation as his words were meant to recall their last late night out.

She swallowed hard, not really wanting to let him down since they'd sort of gotten back to being friends again, but at the same time not willing to forgo the promise she'd made Marcella…and herself. Glancing back at him quickly, she replied, "Jake –"

"Hey, just a couple of friends celebrating. Nothing heavy." He read her tone perfectly.

She seriously doubted his words, listening to the sly seduction behind them. "I don't know. I'll probably be all night helping Mrs. Duvahl clean up the mess Quinn and this party are sure to make. I can't make you any promises." _Why am I caving?_

He shrugged one shoulder, as if it suddenly didn't matter, and nodded. "That's alright. We'll just play it by ear then, hm? See where the night takes us."

She shook her head at his mischievous grin, stepping away from him and through the door to the hall leading to the front parlor and the main staircase. She wasn't prepared to get into another lecture with him – to remind him that they were JUST friends; Liv had too much on her mind, and decided to deal with Jake later, when the moment was sure to re-present itself.

**Upstairs in the master bedroom, **Rowan lay in his bed, fully dressed but for his shoes, which were neatly stationed on the floor, at the side near the foot of the wide mattress. Charles was placing his medical instruments back into his black bag, and then began cleaning up the supplies his mentor had needed for his evening does of the chemotherapy cocktail. Felling a little light-headed and woozy from being a little behind schedule, Rowan had opted to take a little breather before going downstairs to join in with the festivities he could sense all around him.

"Thank you, Charles; I'm feeling a little better already."

In full doctor mode, Charles gently chastised, "You're going to have to remember these doses exactly, Rowan. Lena is going with you to Swyndell, but you can't rely on her all the time."

"I know, Charles." Rowan sighed, hearing the concern in his former student's voice along with the chastising of his doctor. He just couldn't seem to remember all the time; with all the preparations for his trip coming up, he was pressed to get certain things in order before his departure.

Fixing his patient with a sympathetic eye, Charles squeezed his hand in reassurance, deciding to taper his admonishment. "I'll see you downstairs, alright?"

Rowan nodded, relaxing against the pillows. As Dr. MaCovy headed to the door, he gave Rowan a quick smile, and opened the door – nearly colliding with Olivia, who was just reaching up to knock on it.

"Sorry, Charles…Uh, is everything alright?" Her expression had gone from comical to concerned in the blink of an eye.

Patting her shoulder, the doctor said, "Nothing serious, this time. Just a case of forgetfulness on your father's part. Maybe if _you _get after him, he'll listen up."

Rowan put on a stubborn face at his doctor and daughter, who turned to him with expressions mixed with care and exasperation. Olivia squeezed the doctor's arm, edging him out of the door. "I'll see what I can do."

"Before you start," Rowan held up a hand to her as she closed the door, "I've already been hounded quite enough by Charles, and I'm sure your stepmother will be calling any moment from her cell so I may count on another earful."

She crossed her arms, coming to sit on the bed next to him. "Not that I'm letting you off the hook, but where is Lena? I missed her when we got back earlier."

"Quick errand to her office in Manhattan."

"Quick? I doubt she's even going to make it back for the fireworks in the traffic she's going to find. It couldn't wait until morning?"

Rowan was picking at the thread of his comforter. As she watched him, she suddenly wondered why he needed it in the middle of July; the A/C was on, but was it _that _cold to him? "Dad, would you like me to close the vents in here?"

He looked up at her then, and shook his head. "It's just a little chilly. Besides, I can just put on a sweater. So, to what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you'd be busy keeping the kids out of trouble and Jake off of your back."

She nearly did a double take at that, her eyes widening at his remark and a stifled laugh of indignation escaping her full lips. "Dad?"

"Oh, don't 'Dad' me; you kids think I'm some old fuddy-duddy who can't remember what it was like to be young and restless once upon a time?" His brown eyes twinkled at her shocked expression, and Rowan chuckled when he realized she'd gone speechless. Temporarily.

"I can't believe even _you _know about all this. What next: is Lena going to chime in with an opinion?" She settled back against the pillow beside him in mock exasperation.

"I'm sure she has one. Besides, I may be sick but I'm not blind." He chuckled somberly, waving away her surprise that he could take a joking tone about it. "But that's beside the point. Obviously, Jake isn't why you are here. What's wrong?"

She paused before delving into what she'd come up for, still in shock over her father's fresh comments. Shaking her head, she chalked it up to the fact that evidently there were some things that even she didn't know about Rowan Pope, and occasionally, he could still surprise her. Taking a deep breath, she looked him deep in the eyes, and began. "Dad, can you tell me about the people that live around here? The ones I didn't grow up around as a kid."

He thought her question odd as it had come out, one eyebrow raised momentarily. "Anyone in particular?"

She felt just a slight tinge of embarrassment for some reason, as she answered, "Actually, yes. There's a small estate down the beach, heading west. A man lives there; I've seen him a couple times, just curious about him."

Because she'd been looking anywhere but at him, Olivia didn't notice the piercing gaze her father was giving her. He was listening very intently to her words, and reading between the lines – he could tell there were some unstated emotions beneath her words.

"You met someone?"

"No! No, not like that," Olivia laughed it off, glancing at him quickly several times before regaining her composure. "Well, I kind of ran into him down on the beach several days ago. I ran into him again – today, while we were at the Emporium. Dad, if I didn't know better…." she trailed off, realizing how silly her statement was going to sound.

"What, Olivia? Go on." Rowan didn't realize he was holding a breath.

"…nothing. It's silly. I'm just curious if you know any new families that moved in after I went to college. Does any of this sound familiar?"

Rowan chose his words carefully, nodding slowly and meeting her questioning gaze. "I remember a family bought Doc Johnson's land several years back; probably about the time you were getting your B.A. I think that's the place you're talking about."

She waited for him to continue, but he didn't. "And? Is that it?"

Rowan kept himself from grinning, maintaining his serious expression. "Well, if you're asking whether we had tea and crumpets every day, the answer's no. They kept to themselves quite a bit; you have to respect that sort of thing, considering the price of the real estate out here."

She laughed a little, knowing the privacy was exactly why her father had bought land in this exclusive part of Southampton. She could understand why they'd want that sort of solitude. "Thanks dad."

She kissed his cheek endearingly, sliding off the bed and making her way to the door. Rowan watched her, his mind indecisive but outwardly his expression unmoved beyond the affection he held for his daughter. "Olivia."

She turned, smiling back at him. "Yes?"

"…_(changing his mind)_…I'll be down in a little while. I can't wait for some of your famous lemon bars."

Grinning like a proud little girl, she blew him a kiss, and quietly closed the door behind her. In the room, Rowan stared at the dark mahogany for several seconds, a little surprised. He certainly had not expected that line of questioning from Olivia. He couldn't believe the set of circumstances that had the two of them crossing paths. Rowan wondered to himself if he shouldn't have just told his daughter the entire truth. Considering what happened the last time he'd withheld important information from her, he was revisiting his lack of honesty just then.

The problem was he couldn't be sure – with everything that was going on in their lives right then – that pushing Olivia in that direction was the best thing to do. Sighing audibly, he laid back against his pillows, closing his eyes for a spell. Rowan only wanted what was best for his beloved daughter, but at the same time he certainly didn't want to see her go through any more hurt than she'd already been dealt in life. Slightly upset with himself and this new development, he spent the next few moments deep in thought. _What now?_

**At that moment, **Fitz and Ben were finishing a fulfilling meal, and dumping the used dishes in the dishwasher. They'd eaten mainly in silence; Ben could tell that after they'd gotten back from the market the Colonel had a lot on his mind. He chalked it up to the next day's meeting with General Ackens, but unbeknownst to the young soldier, Fitz's thoughts were a million miles away from anything having to do with his superior.

"Hey, you planning on seeing any fireworks, Colonel?" Ben's jovial tone was half a question, half a dare.

"Not on your life, kid." Fitz almost laughed; Ben _had _to be kidding. Without thinking, he chided, "When have you ever known me to dabble in that kind of shit?"

Ben didn't answer, as the two men paused together, their thoughts simultaneously traveling back exactly one year, when little Karen Grant had seen her last 4th of July display. It was a Wednesday. Ben remembered visiting the little girl there at her favorite place, her parents' summer home, where he brought her some sparklers and a little Barbie dressed all in red, white, and blue. She could barely contain her excitement, begging her mother to let her go outside once it was dark, to light the sparklers and watch the fireworks.

Ben could recall the sad expression in Mellie's eyes, as she carried her sick little girl upstairs to get dressed in a festive outfit, and watch the display with her family one last time. He also remembered the look of pure joy on the child's face, as her father lit two of the sparklers in her clinched fist, and they came to life before her face, even as the light was fading from her own eyes.

It was the happiest Ben had seen Karen in some time. It was the last time he'd seen her alive. She died a few short weeks later.

Looking up, Ben Campbell watched the colonel's back as Grant stood in front of the dishwasher, his hand hovering over the button to start it. He'd been sorry to bring it up, but didn't make any apologies; he knew it was too late for that, anyway. "Uhm, sir, I'm going to head on out –"

Fitz nodded quickly, still not facing him, but turning the dial so the dishes started. He didn't trust himself to respond; he just let Ben go, waiting until he heard the front door close and the car out front start before he let go of the death-grip he'd had on the countertop.

With a cold bottle of his favorite beer and a fresh cigar in hand, Fitz took to the back steps, facing the quiet surf at the back of his property. He didn't want to think about Karen right then, but he couldn't help it. Sitting on a step about halfway down, he lit the cigar and tossed the match to the sand below. After a long drag, he leaned back, his gaze glazing over as memories danced behind his eyes, fighting for attention. He couldn't get the painful expression that had marred her impish features as she lay dying in his arms out of his head, until suddenly, and without warning, his daughter's face was replaced with that of another's. Mellie's beautiful countenance melded with Karen's, as the striking similarities between mother and daughter were obvious. Her expression was one more of sympathy than pain or anger, and it made Fitz uneasy.

After a moment, he saw her face suddenly erupt into infectious laughter, and she reached down to pluck the now energetic sprite from her feet, kissing the little girl's cheek with an intimacy that could only result from a mother's love.

Uncomfortably, he watched the mental images of his ex-wife and his daughter re-materialize before him on the sand only a few yards away. They were dressed similarly in bathing suits, Mellie's a two-piece modest bikini and their little girl in the same green color, but a single-piece with cute white ruffles. Karen's dark curls bounced in the air as she chased her mom around the beach with an inflated crab water toy. Like a movie reel that he didn't know how to control, the memory blinked before him as the two ghosts splashed down into the water, whipping up the frothy surf at each other and squealing in glee.

Turning away from the ocean, Fitz felt his eyes suddenly itch and burn, but attributed it to the smoke of his cigar, as it curled before his face. Blinking furiously, he turned back to the water, where it was quiet once more, save for the occasional lapping of water as the tide came in. Tipping the bottle of booze back with the same hand that held his cigar, Fitz took a long gulp, some of the beer rolling down his chin. He closed his eyes to the image of the ghosts and the surf, taking no comfort from either one.

Suddenly, he rose from his perch, leaving his bottle on the step and flicking his cigar in the sand at his feet as he started walking. Away from the house, away from the reel of memories that refused to let him go. He didn't really know where to go, but _away_ seemed like a good idea at the time…


	10. Chapter 10

**Choices and Decisions, part 4**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 9: "Choices and Decisions, pt. 4"_

**Southampton, The Pope Estate**

**July 2, 2004**

The 'non' party was in full swing, after Tristan had brought out a portable stereo to blast some fast-paced tunes at them. Some of the guests were enjoying the music and/or dancing on the patio, while others were down below on the beach, trying to figure out the fireworks Quinn had gotten from the Emporium. The spunky teen was warned by more than one adult not to take matters into her own hands. With her track record for disasters, the older guests were concerned that she could manage to find some way to burn the house down.

At the moment, David and Jake were down there monitoring the preparation for the display, keeping a close eye on Quinn. Above them, Tristan had his hands full with Marcella and Elizabeth, who were more than willing to burn up the impromptu dance floor with him. As Charles watched from the sidelines, the young man grinned with boyish glee as the two attractive women danced around him to the music.

_I'm the kind of brotha_

_Who been doin it my way_

_Gettin my way for years_

_In my career_

_And every lover_

_In a normal life_

_I've hit, loved and left in tears_

_Without a care_

_Until I met this girl who turned the tables around_

_She caught me by surprise_

_I never thought I'd be the one breaking down_

_I can't figure it out why_

As the trio laughed loudly, dragging Charles into their dance party, Jake looked up just in time to see Olivia come out of the door. His breath caught in his chest as he stood up from the kneeling position he'd been in previously. Shamelessly he watched her descend the ramp, looking around herself at the gathered party before her.

_I'm so _

_Caught up_

_Got me feelin it_

_Caught up_

_I don't know what it is_

_But it seems she's got me twisted_

_I'm so_

_Caught up_

_Got me feelin' it_

_Caught up_

_I'm losin control_

_This girl's got a hold on me_

Jake's footsteps led him to the base of the patio's stairway, as he came for a closer look – despite the objections of Quinn and a couple of the other kids waiting for him to finish the fireworks set up. His attention, however, was decidedly elsewhere.

Her London jeans were a darker blue that the sky, and hugged every delicious curve as they rode her shapely hips down to flare out just below the calf. A pale yellow, silk charmeuse cami hugged her full breasts, but flickered open just above the navel, flashing a smooth, tight abdomen at the wind's whim. There was a small ponytail of curled hair at her crown, while the rest of her silken tresses fell in waves around her shoulders and down her back.

He watched speechlessly as a brief wind caressed her bare shoulders, lifting her hair up to dance a moment before she brushed most of it behind her shoulders. As she came up to Marcella and Charles, who were closest to her, she graced them with one of her natural, dazzling smiles, laughing at something her sister had said.

"Yo, Mr. Ballard! Earth to the captain…" Quinn peeked around his shoulder to see exactly what had gotten his attention, and an evil grin broke over her teenaged face, even as Jake apparently still didn't hear her, and started walking away toward the patio.

Janson rushed forward to stop him, but Quinn yanked the guy by his arm, whispering sharply, "Hey, hold on; we aren't missing the _real _fireworks just yet."

Above, Liv thanked her sister and friend for the compliments on her wardrobe, and dolled out several in response. The three stood a few feet away from the men as Charles thankfully escaped the dance floor once more, and Adrian moved away only momentarily to retrieve some drinks. Tristan was the only male left in close proximity to their conversation, and he stood there listening with no shame, and also strategically blocking their view of Jake as he came up the winding steps.

Consequently, Liv didn't notice his presence until he was practically on top of her. "Hey there, Liv…"

She turned, smiling up at him in a polite but platonic way; the wind chose just that moment, however, to rise up slightly, lifting her hair as well as the bottom tails of her shirt. Unbothered, she captured a long strand behind her ear as she gazed up at him. "Hey, Jake. Having a good time?"

He tried to ignore the somewhat ordinary tone she took with him, and turned on the charm, gesturing to their party surroundings. "Pretty good turnout, hm? Looks like we got everything just right."

"Looks that way."

"You and I are a great team. I want to thank you for helping to wrangle the kids earlier today at the store." He leaned against the rail behind her, never taking his eyes off of her.

Behind them, Marcella was sipping a plastic cup of something sweet when she overheard his last comment, and nearly spit it on his back as she choked. Elizabeth slapped her gently between the shoulder blades as Marcella sputtered, "_(cough)_ And I guess the rest of us were just window shopping."

Elizabeth poked her friend's arm, stifling a chuckle. Nearby, Jake pretended like he hadn't heard that, continuing to give Olivia an appreciative once (or twice) over. "Hey, by the way, you look –"

"_AAAAIIIEEEEEE!"_

The gathered adults on the patio reacted, all heads turning to the beach just a few yards away, as a group of the younger students who'd been standing in a close circle moments before suddenly dispersed like cockroaches in a Raid commercial. Only a split second later, a fury of lights, sparks and color erupted from the spot they'd been standing, as the unmistakable sound of small fireworks reverberated in the air.

As the youngsters dove for cover, a couple errant lights sailed over the patio, sending the older partygoers ducking beneath the refreshment tables. After the noises stopped, Jake stood up immediately. "Is everyone alright?"

A chorus in the affirmative greeted him, and it was all he needed to turn his attention to searching the surprised guests for the culprit. "Quinn!"

Guilt written all over her face, the spunky teen lifted her head from the sand where she, CC, and Morgan had huddled together. After a second where it was clear she wasn't getting away with anything, she slowly rose, taking a step toward the patio before stopping dead in her tracks, her eyes widening.

"What in the world –" Jake's face was flustered as he came to stand at the rail, damn-near hanging over it as he began to lay into her.

"Uh, M- Mr. Ballard…"

" – were you thinking? You could've really –"

"Mr. Ballard –" Quinn tentatively pointed past him, but Jake wasn't done ripping her a new one, so he was hardly in a mood to pay attention.

"Jake!" Olivia grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to turn around and see the patio umbrella behind them, which had just recently caught ablaze from a runaway spark. In a sudden panic, Tristan threw a large pitcher of water toward the parasol –just as Olivia had grabbed the end, sending the charred patio accessory flying over the other side of the rail into beach and beyond.

A dead silence followed, as the gathered members rushed to the opposite side of the patio to watch the charred remains of the deck ornament.

"I thought I heard some fireworks." Rowan's voice surprised them from the ramp door of the back of the house. As his daughters and guests turned wide eyes to him, he ignored the obvious chaos and asked coolly, "Did I miss anything?"

His casual demeanor was met with a cacophony of laughter as he joined them. Behind the group, Quinn cringed despite the levity, wishing (not for the first time) that she had the power to disappear.

**Several hours after, **at a sort of hole-in-the-wall place just before you hit the ferry to the mainland was a quaint little bar that sometimes fancied itself a nightspot, depending on the clientele. It wasn't too rundown – this _was _Long Island, after all – but neither was it one of the upscale hotspots usually associated with the bold and beautiful heirs and heiresses of the Island's elite. More to the point, it's where the rich came to slum it, and the not-so-rich came to avoid the rich, if that made any sense. Needless to say, the folks that frequented this place were an eclectic bunch, who most times respected each other's reasons for being there, if they didn't necessarily agree with them.

That sense of neutrality was due largely to the place's proprietor, Charles Huxley. 'Huck' as he preferred to be called, took no nonsense from troublemakers; he didn't have to hire bouncers, though, because his 5'10' frame of hard muscles and piercing brown eyes got the job done on more than one occasion. Of course, the imposing double-barreled shotgun hanging from the back of the bar also helped.

Standing behind the counter at that moment, he was wiping some shot glasses dry as he kept an eye on a small group of celebrators in the corner, who'd obviously not wanted the holiday to end. Not far away on the impromptu stage, a local band that frequented the bar was taking requests, keeping the mood in constant party status.

Turning to the quiet body before him at the bar, Huck snorted, "Sorry about all the noise tonight, man. You know how it gets around here on holidays."

Throwing one back, Fitz only shrugged. He and Huck had been through this sort of thing a lot in the past year, since Fitz had become a regular at _Lolita's_. (Named after his beloved mother, Huck had toyed with changing the name for a short time, after he started getting prank calls and stupid requests for interviews following a certain highly publicized incident twelve years prior…)

At any rate, Fitz barely gave the partiers around him a second glance, as he kept to himself and continued to put down shots of whiskey. It burned only for a second as it went down.

Moving away to tend to another couple who'd just come up to the bar, Huck left Fitz alone with his thoughts. He'd initially thought it was a good idea to get away from the house for a little while, come to _Lola's _(his nickname for the joint) and toss a few away with the owner, who often managed to distract him with some insane conversation, but after he'd gotten there his mood didn't seem to improve the least bit, despite Huck's best efforts.

Sighing heavily, Fitz poured another shot of whiskey and threw his head back sharply as he took it down. When he opened his eyes again and looked into the reflective mirror behind the bar, his drink nearly caught in his throat, causing him to choke a little as he watched the group at the door just coming in.

His still-sharp blue eyes fixed on the short, dark-haired beauty immediately, as she was crowded by her friends, all laughing at some private joke as the four guys accompanying the three women took their jackets. He couldn't help but laugh to himself sardonically; even if he'd believed it a coincidence before, he was sure as hell not going to be that naïve now.

Just as he'd seen at the grocery store, the taller brown-haired man beside her was ever vigilant, his hand at the small of her back the whole way to their booth.

Across the bar, Olivia and company settled into their seats, chatting the whole time as the server came up to get their order. The young woman gave Charles a wink as she asked him what he wanted, causing the doctor to blush. Tristan elbowed him beneath the table as the girl left, giving him the 'go-ahead' look.

"I can't believe ya'll talked me into this place," Marcella crossed her arms at the somewhat quaint surroundings of the dive, used to much more upscale surroundings in a nightspot, like _Club Space _or _Brasil_.

Chuckling, Olivia gave Jake a private look, knowing that his suggestion of this particular spot was meant as a joke between them. Squeezing Marcella's shoulder, she replied, "Give the place a chance, Marcella. I think you'll like it by the time we leave."

To that, her sister only huffed, giving Jake a completely murderous glare for a moment; she knew exactly what the significance of this place was, and didn't appreciate her sister's cool acceptance of Jake's attempt to drag them all down memory lane in some lame attempt to get in Olivia's good graces. "I sincerely doubt it, sis."

As their drinks came, the band was gearing up to take another request from a patron; the speakers hummed for a second as they began the intro to a popular new dance song they were famous for covering. Recognizing the beat, some of the young adults moved to the rhythm in their seats as they continued to talk. They were having too much fun to notice they were being investigated.

Across the room, Fitz watching them a little longer, unsure himself why he couldn't seem to keep his peepers off of the woman he'd been mysteriously running into so often lately. Watching their reflection in the mirror, he found his brows furrowing at the obvious interest her male companion showed. He couldn't put his finger on what it was about the guy that left a bad taste in his mouth (and no, he wasn't confusing it with whiskey). Shaking his head a little at his own odd behavior, he returned his attention to the depths of his mind and the emptiness of his glass, lowering his gaze from the group's excited movements.

Several minutes later, Jake excused himself, getting lost in the sea of bodies on the dance floor. He'd been cryptic and vague about his destination, but Olivia hadn't been too concerned. As she giggled from the Cosmo in her hands at something silly Tristan had said, she heard the song ending from the stage, and the bar was temporarily quieted.

Marcella took that opportunity to swat Tristan's arm, jerking her head toward Charles. "Hey, mister, when are you going to stop trying to get your buddies hooked up and get your own girl?"

With a purely devilish grin, the guy leaned in over the table to fix Marcella with an appreciative once over, murmuring, "When are you going to get off Nate and start looking for a _real _man?"

As Marcella sat back, temporarily speechless, the table erupted in hoots and chuckles. Olivia patted her sister's leg, yet still laughing, as she watched Marcella's cheeks turn bright red at Tristan's suggestive stare.

"Hey. We got a request for something just a bit older, so youse guys grab a girl and have a little fun to something a bit different!" The lead singer gave a thumb's up to Jake as he turned away.

Suddenly, Olivia put down her drink as she heard a familiar tune start by the band. Her eyes brightened tremendously as she instantly recalled the number, and looked around. It only took her a couple seconds to spy Jake coming her way, gesturing to her already. "No he didn't."

The others looked up, mostly unaware of the significance, as Jake reached their table, and offered his hand for Olivia to stand. "May I have this dance?"

As they stepped onto the dance floor, they could feel the quick, deep drumbeats in their chests, initially sounding like a big-band era track. It had a catchy rhythm and the lead vocalist of the no-name band did a wonderful job mimicking the faux-60s sound of the original performer.

Jake spun Olivia out to his arm's length, then pulled her back in as the song got underway. "Remember this one?"

She grinned at him as memories of being sixteen flooded her mind; this song had been a favorite of theirs at that age, and she remembered dancing to it in a light, flowing skirt when it'd been played at Jake's prom.

_Sing your life_

_Any fool can think of words that rhyme_

_Many others do_

_Why don't you?_

_Do you want to?_

_Oh…_

_Sing your life_

_Walk right up to the microphone_

_And name_

_All the things you love_

_All the things that you loathe_

_Oh, sing your life_

_The things that you love_

_And the things you loathe_

_Oh, sing your life_

_Oh, sing your life_

She had to admit that Jake Ballard had not lost his impeccable dance steps; one of the things about him few knew outside the close-knit group they were with right then. Their imitation of a sock-hopping couple got a few appreciative looks, and soon others joined in on the dance floor.

_La, la-la, la-la, sing your life_

_La, la-la, la-la, sing your life_

_Others sang your life_

_But now is a chance to shine_

_And have the pleasure of_

_Saying what you mean_

_Have the pleasure of_

_Meaning what you sing_

_Oh, make no mistake my friend_

_All of this will end_

_So sing it now (sing your life)_

_All the things you love (sing your life)_

_All the things you loathe_

_Oh, sing your life_

_The things that you love_

_And the things you loathe (sing your life)_

_Oh, sing oh…_

_Oh, sing oh…_

If the simple little bar had had a spotlight it surely would've been cast upon the two, who by now had gotten most of the patrons involved in dancing to the infectious tune or gathered on the sidelines to watch them.

Even Tristan managed to drag a less-than-willing Marcella onto the floor, squeezing her hands as he held her close in an adaptation of The Charleston. Marcella was surprised more from his gentleness than his sure feet on the floor. The sometimes-pompous always skirt-chasing Pre-Med student was going to show the haughty belle a thing or two about men.

"Well, you don't see _that _every day, do you?" Huck chuckled, stopping from wiping down the bar, going around Fitz who seemed a million miles away. As the colonel looked up, puzzled, Huck gestured to the dancers behind him.

"Those kids look too damn young to know that kind of dancing, man. That shit's old as I am," He chuckled, admiring their ode to happy days.

Fitz looked up in the mirror, unable to see through the crowd initially. All of a sudden, he got a glimpse of brown, then, someone moved into his way. A couple seconds later, it reappeared, and he recognized it as long, thick locks of the woman's hair, as her partner twirled her around.

Turning in his chair, Fitz's gaze seemed to part the onlookers, who just happened to move from obstructing his view. Her shapely body moved easily to the music, and Fitz soon found himself really looking at her, and liking what he saw.

_La, la-la, la-la, sing your life_

_La, la-la, la-la, sing your life_

_Don't leave it all unsaid_

_Somewhere in the wasteland of your head, oh_

_Head, oh head, oh, head, oh_

_And make no mistake, my friend_

_Your pointless life will end_

_But before you go_

_Can you look at the truth?_

_You have a lovely singing voice_

_A lovely singing voice_

_And all of those _

_Who sing on key_

_They stole the notion_

_From you and me_

_So, sing your life (sing your life)_

_Sing your life (sing your life)_

_Oh, sing your oh…_

_Oh, sing your_

_Sing your life_

_Sing your life_

_Sing your life_

As the song faded and the crowd cheered and applauded the dancers and band alike, Fitz saw the slim man by her side graciously bow to her, and she dipped her head at him, her face beaming with a wide, beautiful smile as she laughed in exhaustion. Waving a little sheepishly at their audience, she turned then and by purest chance had a direct line of sight straight to the bar, where she caught Fitz's eye.

When she looked at him, Fitz was mildly surprised; not because of the distance, but because of the beat his pulse skipped. Her eyes widened as well, her smile still there, but different now. Wordlessly, he lifted his shot glass, toasting her performance also, and nodded just once. She bowed her head in return, but was then distracted as Jake stood close behind her, his hand at her back once more.

Fitz turned back to his drink, but not fast enough that he didn't miss the man's re-appearance. He wasn't looking for any trouble that night, despite his rotten mood (a fight usually got the demons off his back a little while), so he decided he wasn't going to find out what that smile meant.

Unaware, Jake got Olivia to turn around, beaming down at her. "You haven't lost a step, Liv."

"Neither have you," She smiled up at him, but her mind was elsewhere. "Jake, do me a favor? Order another Cosmo for me; I'll be right back."

His expression was clearly puzzled, but he nodded, squeezing her hand before disappearing back toward their table. Once she was sure he was gone, Olivia turned back around to the bar, but the seat was now empty. Her eyes darted toward the door on instinct, and saw the man's back as he headed to the exit.

Rushing forward through the people, she had to stretch her long legs in order to catch up to him. She didn't want to call out 'hey you!', and risk being heard by her friends. Just as his hand reached out to grab the door, she called, "Leaving so soon?"

Fitz felt a presence behind him, but didn't want to startle her too much by whirling around at her. He stopped in his tracks, and just barely turned his head enough to be able to see her out of the corner of his eye. With a crooked grin he responded, "What, saving the last dance for me?"

Olivia completed the distance between them, and stood there in front of this man suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Maybe it was the fact that she really didn't do things like this to strangers, or maybe it was the Cosmos…Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her now.

"I think my sock-hop days are over," she amended, then raised her eyes to his once more; a chill running down her spine at his close gaze. "It's just…well when I saw you there, I thought since we kept running into each other, I might as well introduce myself. My father did teach me to have better manners."

His face actually changed when she said the word 'father', but Olivia mistook its meaning that maybe he had no intention of actually dispensing pleasantries. Unsure of herself, she almost took a step back then, but his hand moved to wipe the back leg of his jeans and then came forward, extended toward her.

She took it, and felt the little charge, but spoke over it. "Hi. I'm Olivia."

"Fitz." He held back the smile from feeling the mild shock go up his arm, causing goosebumps to raise the hairs there. He didn't need to know what that meant, and besides; Fitz could fairly sense the curiosity rolling off of her. He held her chocolate gaze for a moment; she couldn't know that he was trying hard to figure her out, and why she'd decided to come up to him.

"Well, um, I don't want to keep you…" She broke their handshake, looking a little uneasy then, "…but it was nice, finally, to meet you. I mean, _meet _you meet you." _Agh, untie that tongue, girl! _

He just barely grinned at her lack of articulateness. "Yeah, same here."

As Fitz turned for the door, he felt himself turning back around and in a voice he didn't recognize said, "Maybe I'll see you around."

It was the opening she'd been looking for, and Olivia held up a hand to stay him a moment longer. "Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to see you again –"

He looked back at her sharply.

" –uhm, I mean, I may be in a position to help you. And not just cleaning, this time." She sort of chuckled to herself.

Fitz had absolutely no idea what she could mean by that, but he was definitely intrigued. He couldn't help but be curious about this woman; he thought he was figuring her out, but she kept changing the game on him every time they ran into each other. Her motives were just as mysterious as his own in this respect, but since he didn't sense any danger coming from her, he thought maybe he could indulge the itch (of curiosity) he was feeling right then. Raising a brow, he asked, "Do I look like I need help?"

She wasn't sure at all if he was joking or not, and her confused expression told him so. "Maybe I didn't say that correctly…"

He crossed his arms, waiting. Inwardly he was laughing his ass off, watching her fidget like that. Fitz wasn't really the type to give you a lifeline in these sorts of situations, and besides, he thought she looked even cuter as flustered and at a loss for words.

"God, I feel like I'm making a fool of myself." She muttered, glancing at him.

Fitz's eyes softened a bit at that admission, and he cocked his head at her. He could tell she seemed confused about something – something that had to do with him, but he wasn't about to get into it right then and there. Stepping a foot closer to her, he said lowly, "Nothing foolish in honesty, darling. _I'll see you around_."

His gaze sort of caressed her before he turned and disappeared through the door. Olivia was a little shocked in his wake, realizing that his last words had been more of a certainty than a wish.

She stood there staring at the now closed door for several seconds, willing her heart to stop racing, but enjoying every second of it. Olivia couldn't understand her complete attraction to this man; the physical part was rather obvious – he was fine as hell – but there was something underlying there she couldn't quite place. Since their first encounter she kept getting the feeling he was expecting her to say something specific to him, but she had no idea what that was. So she had the feeling that they just kept dancing around each other.

She chewed her bottom lip in thought, as she remembered the way he'd looked at her when she mentioned her father. There was sadness there – and something else she couldn't place. Narrowing her eyes, Olivia decided right then and there, she needed to find out why this Fitz affected her so; she was sure that Little Voice inside her head would get no ultimate rest until she did.

**Walking back toward his beachside property, **Fitz pulled a long drag from his lighted cigar, deep in thought. He couldn't believe he'd actually had yet another run in with the girl. He was shaking his head, but found himself smiling at her energy, her curious nature…and the pretty package they were wrapped in.

Chiding himself for that thought, he had to admit – if only to himself as he walked away in the dark – that she was probably the first woman he'd thought of in that way, since he and Mellie had split up.

_Well rest assured, Fitz, soon as she find out the truth, that'll probably change._

_Fitz and Olivia are definitely feeling that 'spark'! Rowan seemed a little worried when Olivia began describing the mysterious man she's been running into – wonder why that could be? _

_I love hearing your theories about how Fitz knows Olivia and I will say, __**one **__of you are correct in your guessing although I would venture to say that the __**how **__of the situation will still shock you! _

_Thank you to my reviewers: kelleekellkell, valkel00, noro, LoreneMichelle41, freckled98, and gdzemama._


	11. Chapter 11

**Something New, part 1**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 10: "Something New, pt.1"_

**Pope Estate, Southampton**

**July 3, 2004**

**8 a.m.**

Rowan looks up from his desk littered with papers, as a firm knock comes to the door of his downstairs study. He knows who it is, but still appreciates the respect of privacy the knock signified.

"Come in Lena."

Quietly slipping in, Rowan's wife, and long-time friend, carried a large, black briefcase with her as she came up to the desk. She noticed Rowan's glance at it, not showing too much emotion facially. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it last night, Rowan. The traffic –"

"I can imagine. That's alright, though; you didn't miss much…" There was an odd little smile at the corners of his mouth as Rowan said this, and Lena's somewhat worried expression plainly said she really, really didn't want to know.

"Well, at any rate, here are the papers we talked about. I faxed them over to Cyrus late last night, and just like you said, he was up early enough to get them back to me before I left this morning." Lena popped the shiny ebony case open and rifled through it momentarily as she spoke.

Rowan reached out a hand, accepting the tan-colored folder. He simply stared at it for a moment before sighing a little, and opening it up to sift through its contents absently. Quietly, Lena watched him, reading the internal dialogue Rowan was surely having.

When Rowan reluctantly closed the folder, Lena murmured, "Did you get a chance to talk to her about it?"

Rowan shook his head, still looking at the folder, then set it apart from the rest of the mess on his desk before answering. "No. I didn't want to get into it at the celebration last night, and they didn't get back afterwards until it was rather late, so I decided to let her get some sleep."

Lena gave Rowan an expression that clearly said she thought that was a cop-out, but her tone was somewhat sympathetic. "You've got to talk to Olivia before we leave, Rowan; you only have another couple of weeks."

"I know that, Lena." His tone was perhaps a little harsher than intended, but that only told Lena how fatigued her husband really was.

"Is it that you think she won't agree to it?"

"No, it's not really that. I just don't want to remind her that her father is dying by bringing this up; especially now."

Lena's brow rose as Rowan slowly wiped his face in a tired way. "What's that supposed to mean? What happened?"

Rowan shook his head, a hand motioning absently in some measure of disbelief. "Nothing…yet. But I'll get into that in a moment. Let me sign the papers first, and I'll tell you everything."

**Upstairs, where it is still quiet, **not too many of the visiting guests to the Estate have risen to the morning yet. The halls are too quiet, as the early morning shadows barely peek through windows and curtains, caressing slumbering forms to rise.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Olivia rolled over onto her belly, peering out from beneath a down pillow. Her lithe brown body was hopelessly wrapped up in a series of sheets on the king-sized bed, and sometime during the night her satin band had made its way off of her ponytail, so her hair was wild all over her shoulders and head, partially in her eyes. She blinked several times; still groggy and believing she'd imagined that horrible interruption.

As her slightly red-rimmed brown eyes finally focused on the sunlight filtering in across the room through the French-style doors of her private terrace, she heard it again, only a little more persistent.

_Oh for heaven's sake…_She grabbed the pillow, squeezing it over her face as she groaned before calling out:

"_Yes_?"

The knob turned quietly, and her younger sister's face appeared from behind the mahogany door. Upon seeing Olivia's body stir on the bed, she slid inside, closing the door and bouncing over to her. "You're not up yet?"

"No, Marcella…I most certainly am _not_." She pulled the pillow down, her expression a mix of surprise and jealous annoyance at her sister's wide-eyed exuberance. She couldn't understand how peppy Marcella was, considering they hadn't gotten back from club-hopping until well after 3 a.m.

Landing hard on the bed beside her, Marcella chuckled as Olivia let out a faint groan, rolling away to vainly try burying herself deeper in the bed linens. Pulling her protective pillow away, Marcella grinned at Olivia's murderous look. Her eyes sparkled with impish glee as she said excitedly, "Well…?"

Olivia turned back to her, looking over her shoulder quizzically for a moment before answering, "Hmm? What?"

"Oh, don't 'hmm, what' me. Spill it."

Fully facing her, Olivia's look was genuinely curious. "Marcella, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."

Lightly smacking Olivia with the stolen pillow, Marcella huffed, "Yeah you do. _Who is he_?"

A look of mild shock registered on Liv's face as her mind suddenly cleared, and she got an idea who Marcella was talking about. "H-How did you -?"

"_(laughs)_ I guess you were too distracted by good looks to remember your nosy best friend. Although, Elizabeth kept it to herself for a minute, until I dragged her into the ladies room to spill it." Marcella was giving Olivia this weird look, her eyes shining like a kid at Christmas…or a nosy schoolgirl about to get the scoop of the century.

Sitting up against the headboard, Olivia tried to organize her thoughts; some of her memories from the night before were still hazy (she made a mental note to lay off the Cosmopolitans when she went out from now on). With a narrowed gaze, she evaluated Marcella. "Okay, let me get this straight; I meet a guy and _you're _the one acting 'sprung'?"

Marcella laughed at Olivia's use of slang, pointing at her. "Ah-ha! So you _did _meet somebody! I told Lizzie it couldn't have been that innocent."

Olivia put her hand up to her head, covering her eyes for a moment as she asked, "Please don't tell me you were all watching?"

"No…unfortunately. Jake could have done well to turn around and get a look, though." She muttered, her gaze falling for a second.

"Marcella! That's not why I was talking to – you know, I'm not getting into this with you." Olivia stood up, going toward the bathroom as she desperately tried to end the line of questioning.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Marcella turned her body to follow Olivia's movements, "you can't leave me hanging like that – what's his name? How did you meet? Where's he from?"

She could hear a loud groan from her sister in the bathroom. Olivia splashed water on her face to wake her fully and took her time toweling dry before she re-emerged at the door. Fixing Marcella with a look, she said, "You know, I've got some questions for you too, girl. For starters, why and Tristan seemed joined at the hip after we left _Lolita's_."

"…" Marcella turned her head a little, looking out the doors to the terrace as she whistled softly.

"Uh huh, just what I thought." Olivia tossed the hand towel back into the bathroom and came out to the bed. Settling against the stack of pillows, she shook her head at Marcella. "What's good for the goose, little sister."

Rolling her eyes, Marcella lifted her shoulders like a child who'd been caught in the cookie jar. "What can I say? We were having fun. We've known Tristan for years, Liv. It's nothing."

"He's cute, ambitious, loves to party just as much – or more than – you do, and he isn't Nathan." She ticked off the points on her fingers, watching Marcella's reaction to each one.

"Well, when you put it like that…" Marcella responded sarcastically.

Olivia laughed a little, leaning over to lay a hand on her sister's knee. "Doesn't feel good to get the third degree, does it?"

Her eyes softening, Marcella amended, "Sorry, sis. I just got a little over-excited at the prospect of Jake getting kicked to the curb, is all. Won't happen again."

Chuckling even harder, Olivia corrected, "Jake isn't getting kicked _anywhere_; he'd have to still be in the house to get kicked to the curb."

"Good."

"Besides," Olivia smirked at Marcella's comment, "This isn't about Jake. This guy…he's…."

Marcella watched as Olivia reached for the words, but seemed to come up empty. She waited patiently, carefully watching her sister's reaction to this mysterious stranger. A guy Olivia admitted to barely knowing was twisting her tongue up in knots? _This must be serious._

Finally giving in, Olivia lowered her gaze to her hands, as she focused on examining her fingernails. "…I don't know, Marcella. I don't know. I mean, he's hot – anyone can see that – but when he looks at me, I just…Just, you _know_?"

Marcella couldn't help a sympathetic chuckle at her lack of articulation. "What was that you were saying about being 'sprung'?"

Giving up trying to express herself, Olivia turned on her side, wondering why her mind seemed to go into a temporary lapse whenever she thought about Fitz. "There's some kind of…of _connection _– that's the word I'm looking for. But I don't know why."

"You're drawn to him." Marcella studied her face; it was a statement rather than a question.

"Yes…I am." Olivia whispered it like it was a secret. She suddenly looked up at her sister, and could feel her face warm in embarrassment. It had been quite a while since she and Marcella had had conversations like this. Usually it was Marcella doing all of the spilling (of course about Nathan or some jerk she was trying to get to take his place) and Liv doing the listening. She liked being the sympathetic ear, the 'older, wiser' sister much better than the patient on the couch.

"So," Marcella's voice broke through, "When are you going to see him again?"

Giving that some thought, Olivia's expression changed to uncertainty. "I think that's going to be up to him."

**About an hour later, **Fitz opened up his front door to the faces of General Jason Ackens and Henry French, from the Pentagon. Neither man was exactly sure what to expect upon actually seeing the colonel in person after so long, but their surprised expressions told Fitz a lot. He could see their relief that he hadn't opened the door in a wife-beater and dirty sweatpants with his hair down his back.

"French. Jase." Fitz almost never addressed the General by his title unless they were in the presence of ranked inferiors, and this time was no exception. He stepped to the side to allow them entrance to the foyer, and both calmly went past him.

"Fitz."

"Colonel." French was all business as he preceded the General, shamelessly looking around the house as he entered; almost as if he expected to see something horrific.

Closing the door, Fitz led the way into his study – which still housed books bought mostly by Mellie and some that had belonged to Karen. He didn't use the room much – then or now – but thought it would look more professional than the living room or kitchen. Turning to them after gesturing seats, he asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"

Both men declined, but inwardly Jason was pleased with Fitz's performance thus far; he just hoped it was a genuine one, and he hadn't put some serious credibility with his higher-ups on the line for nothing. "No thanks, Fitz. We're not going to be here that long."

Fitz's brow came up at that, he was expecting a lot of questions. "Oh?"

"It's not what you think." French raised a hand to steer Fitz's thoughts away from any negative conclusions.

Fitz looked at the man, almost asking in his most sarcastic tone just what the pencil-necked moron thought he was thinking. The flash of attitude disappeared almost as quickly as it had come up, though; he knew enough to keep his mouth shut until they explained themselves. _Then _if he didn't like what they said, he could let his gums go flapping.

Ackens glanced between the two, having realized a long time ago that Fitz's fuse was short, but especially with anyone not directly inside the ranks of the DoD's covert ops division "B16". Meeting with a Pentagon official had been a stipulation, however, along with some other terms. "Fitz, we're not here to jerk your chain or nothing. You requested to be put back on active duty; specifically the Winslow file."

"Yeah. And?" Fitz watched Jason warily.

"Well, through no small feat of begging, pleading, and other negotiation tactics, I managed to get you back in –"

Fitz's body visibly relaxed, and he settled back against the chair he'd been sitting in.

" – provided some assurances from your end."

"Assurances? What the hell does that mean?" Fitz went stiff again; he was smelling a big old 'but' in there somewhere.

When Ackens paused for a breath, French spoke up, giving the General a glance. "Well, first of all Colonel, you've been out on sick leave for almost a year, so we'll have to have your field readiness re-evaluated, along with clearances from Dr. Gonzalez."

"I don't need any tests, Jase." Fitz ignored French, fixing his gaze on his superior and comrade of many years. "And if I wanted someone messing with my head again, I'd still be married to Mellie."

"Fitz…" Ackens started, but French had had enough.

"This isn't a negotiable request, Colonel Grant; these are the terms for your re-instatement and re-assignment to the Winslow case, as well as your continued employment by the U.S. military." French roughly snapped open the shiny silver briefcase he'd carried, rustling through it for a leaflet of papers.

Fitz was barely able to hold his tongue to this jerk, who didn't seem sympathetic at all to the hell he'd been through over the past few years in general; the past several months in particular. He watched as a thin stack of documents were laid on the table before him. French closed the case quickly, rising to his feet.

Ackens rose as well, but his expression was decidedly more empathetic. "Fitz, you have to understand the position I'm in here."

Crossing his muscular arms, Fitz's eyes burned into Jason's. "Oh, I understand, all right…"

"No, I don't think you do…" Jason stopped then, and motioned to French, who nodded curtly and headed for the door, presumably to wait in the car. Once he'd left, Ackens turned back to Fitz. "Listen, I had to call in some _major-ass favors_ for you on this one."

"Look, if they have doubts I can do this, then send somebody else. But when the body-bags start coming back, I don't want to hear it." Fitz snapped.

"Your abilities have never been in question, son. But even you have to admit here, we've got to cover our own asses. If you're not one-hundred percent a lot of shit could go wrong; the last thing I need is some over-zealous yahoo from The Hill crawling up my ass about B16, putting pressure on the boys at the Pentagon to –"

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Fitz waved a tired hand, "Secret military organizations need to stay secret, I get that."

Ackens came closer, just enough to lay a hand on Fitz's shoulder for a moment. "Good. Now, we've already set up some preliminary appointments for you. Just the usual light stuff at the HAWC*, couple days with Gonzalez over at the MTF*, the PEB*, and God willing, we can get you in some training exercises once all this bullshit is taken care of."

Fitz watched Ackens motion to the papers, then reached and picked them up. There were highlighted areas where he needed to sign. Looking up at Jason, he asked, "And this will get me back in?"

The General held out a gold pen from his shirt pocket, fixing Fitz with his serious expression. Without a further complaint, the colonel reached out and took it, scrawling his name at the appropriate areas.

Just a few minutes later, with that completed, Jason Ackens walked down the narrow, twisting sidewalk away from Grant's home and toward the street here his black and silver accented Yukon was parked. He saw French in the passenger side seat, and he nodded when they made eye contact.

Approaching the car, Jase tried to push away the uneasy feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. He knew he was wagering a major gamble in trusting that Fitz was ready to come back this soon. Unfortunately he really didn't have any other choice; the situation in Swyndell was forcing their hand early, and with Keith Winslow on the loose, they didn't need any amateurs leading the group. They needed The Best.

Climbing into the car, he silently hoped that Fitz was still that man.

**A few hours later back at the Pope Estate, **Olivia sat before her father in his study, her body rigid and her eyes slightly widened. She looked up at Lena, who stood on the other side of the desk beside Rowan. Glancing back down at her father, she began to shake her head in some astonishment.

"I…I'm not sure I understand. I thought that Michael and Kerrie were running things at the School. Now you want _me_ to take over as Head Master?"

Rowan nodded, firmly sliding the documents closer to her side of the desk as he spoke. "I realize that your tenure track at The Masters School is going well, but I can't think of anyone else I would rather have in charge. Besides, Michael will be taking over in Vermont once the new Academy is finished next fall."

She still hesitated, as the enormity of what he was asking finally seeped through. Head master at Pope's School; it was geared toward helping young, needy children as well as gifted 'intelligent' children hone their educational gifts while also preparing them for life in the 'real' world as much as possible. She'd grown up in that school, along with Marcella, Tristan, Jake, and so many others. One day it'd been her dream to come back and teach there, when she felt she was ready. Evidently, her father believed that day had come, and then some.

"Olivia, I know you're ready for this. And with my departure to Swyndell soon, I won't be able to resume my duties anyway. Lena had been filling in, with Charles and David whenever they could spare the time, but I really want you for this…Consider it my gift, to you." Rowan handed her a pen, looking deep into her eyes.

She couldn't mistake the love there, the pride as he told her this. She shook her head, feeling tears well in her eyes. Ignoring the pen, she came around the desk to wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face in his neck. Rowan chuckled, looking up at Lena. "May we take that as a yes."

"Absolutely. Yes!" She wiped her eyes, turning to the papers and beginning to sign. She'd have to alert the Masters School of her decision – probably that same day would be a good idea, or perhaps after the holiday was officially over.

"I know it's going to be overwhelming at first, so I'll ask David and Charles to help out during the transition period. Besides that, there are some other things I'd like to go over with you tomorrow evening before we leave for the fireworks display."

She kissed his cheek, smiling gratefully. "Thank you Dad. Really, thank you so much. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

Rowan smiled at his daughter as she excused herself several minutes later; he didn't mention it even to Lena, but he secretly hoped that he would be able to live long enough to see her shine on her first day as Head Master of his school.

**Sometime the next afternoon, **Olivia found herself deep in thought, walking slowly along the beach only a mile or so out from the house. It was getting late in the afternoon, so the sun was low over the watery horizon as she watched it set.

Her mind had been going a mile a minute, and with all of the people rolling around the house, it was getting difficult to get a second to herself. Of course, as word of her acceptance of Rowan's offer spread, she found herself thanking everyone for their good wishes.

However, one can only take so much of that, so she found herself out on the patio at first, until a cool late afternoon breeze had caressed her body, calling to her. Leaving her shoes on the deck, she started walking. Initially it was just going to be a few hundred feet, but before long, she'd wandered about a mile out, occasionally walking into the surf to feel the cool refreshing water at her legs.

She was lost in thoughts of her father; his impending departure; her new course in life as a Head Master; what the reunion could possibly be like without its patriarch at the helm…

These were thoughts that saw many emotions pass over her face as she kept walking, no longer mindful of where she was going. Taking a sudden deep breath, she relaxed just a little, watching several gulls chase each other in the sky above. Smiling, she sort of yearned to take to the skies herself; to be _that _carefree.

Finally stopping, Olivia sat down in the white sand, facing the water and admiring its beauty. The healthy winds whipped her long ponytail against her back and around her shoulders, but she paid it no mind, entranced by the quiet elegance of the sunset.

Later, she couldn't have said how long she'd been there. After about ten minutes she'd sat up, rearranging her body in a perfect position to meditate. With her lithe legs crossed tightly, her back was arched gracefully but the muscles were taut, and her face was lifted toward the darkening heavens as if waiting for the kiss of a lover.

"We really have to stop meeting like this, darling."

Shocked out of her meditation, her eyes flew open, startled, and even though she immediately recognized the voice and the man behind it, her heartbeat still sped up in her chest. Calming her pounding heart, she looked over and smiled at him as he continued walking up to her. Supporting her cheek with a clenched fist, Olivia couldn't help a smile. "At least I didn't throw any punches on you."

He took that in stride, stopping a few feet away from her with his arms crossed loosely. "I thought you'd get around to mentioning that."

"You know, I have no qualms telling you now that you scared the shit out of me." She felt a little brave, giving him a slight admonishment even as she chuckled.

"Says the lady who walks out in the middle of a storm because she's pissed off about something."

She shrugged, still chuckling. "How did you figure it out?"

"You probably don't remember, or thought I wasn't paying any attention, but I heard you."

_I'm Sorry._ She remembered now, whispering those words softly the morning after finding out about her father. Slightly embarrassed, she turned away from him for a brief moment, as those painful memories flooded back. She'd managed to get over most of the anger, but Olivia decided then that she never wanted to feel that sort of betrayal again.

"Olivia?"

She looked up at him, blinking back to reality as she heard her name. She liked the way it came off of his tongue. "So, you know I can be a jerk when I'm pissed and I know you have anger problems."

He almost laughed out loud at the rudimentary observation of his _problems_. "Not exactly. I'm just going through some things."

Olivia was bright enough to tell he was uncomfortable talking about his problems, whatever they may be, so she decided to do them both the favor and change the subject for the moment. "Oh, by the way; is "Fitz" your first name or last?"

Grinning, he replied, "Neither."

"Oh." She was confused now, and her face told him so.

Enjoying jerking her chain a little, Fitz stepped closer, and settled down beside her in the sand. Resting his elbows on his drawn-up knees, he amended, "My given name is Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III. I just go by Fitz." He was going to leave it at that.

Unaware of the history behind that, she looked thoughtful for several seconds, then fixed him with a soft look. "I like Fitzgerald."

"Thanks…but you're not going to call me that."

She laughed out loud; tickled at the determined way he'd said it. He only looked at her, liking the sound more than he thought he would. As she settled down, Fitz found himself studying her, for only the second time really truly up close. With the breeze washing over them, lifting her hair and clothes; the fading sunlight bouncing off her features.

Olivia looked over to see him watching her intently. It was a private look, but it told her little of what was going on in his thoughts. "Fitz?"

He snapped out of his reverie and focused on her eyes. "Yeah?"

"I have to ask you a question. And please, don't take this the wrong way."

"I'll try not to as long as you don't go the wrong way." His eyes told her he was joking…she thought.

"Well, I don't know if you've seen anyone about your _problems _but I happen to know a few people who could help, if you ever want to talk."

He was curious as to why she brought that up. "Problems? Like what?"

"I don't know," She lifted a shoulder. She'd turned to watch the water, completely missing his pained expression. But just as quickly as it'd appeared, it was gone, and he looked away for a moment, silent.

"Doctors. You're talking about doctors."

She didn't mistake the tone of mistrust there, and looked at him sharply, surprised. "Well, a couple of them. But mainly I meant my father; he's got some decent connection with places that specialize in that kind of thing…I'm sorry, did I say something to upset you?"

He realized how his earlier statement must have sounded, and he was sorry for allowing it to show through. "No, don't worry about it. Just, me and doctors rarely mix anymore. Seems there's always one hanging around when I least want one."

She started to want to delve into what was behind all these cryptic statements, but Olivia sensed that, considering it was their first real conversation, she shouldn't try prying him open like a clam. "Hm. I get the feeling I should leave that alone."

His expression told her she was right, but all the same he murmured, "It's okay, thanks for caring enough to offer."

She nodded briefly, feeling a little uncomfortable with where their conversation had turned off. Unsure where to go from there, Olivia simply leaned back, watching the water again. Absently, she whispered, "What I wouldn't give to be able to fly away from here and never look back."

At his questioning gaze, she elaborated. "Family issues."

"Why can't you?"

"Someone has to watch after the school, and my sister, and stepmother." She rested her chin on her hand, a little dejected.

Fitz remained quiet for a spell, until he turned to her suddenly, his eyes bright. "Hey I've got an idea."

"What's that?"

"Ever been on a Hog?"

Her curiosity piqued, she nudged him on. "A hog? Like a motorcycle hog?"

"Yep. How about it?" He had no idea why he was doing this, except that he really didn't want their time out here to end, and at the mention of her thirst to 'escape' for a while, he couldn't resist.

Olivia opened her mouth to accept his offer, but her phone buzzed at that moment. Glancing down, she saw the text from her father.

_**Olivia?**_

_**Yeah dad, I'm on my way.**_

Smiling back to Fitz, she hated that she had to decline. After meeting up with him again like this, she'd instantly forgotten the plans the family had to see the official 4th of July display at Liberty Island. "Unfortunately, not tonight, Mr. Grant." She smirked when he scowled at her use of his given name.

"Oh. Alright."

Touched at the genuine disappointment in his eyes, Olivia reached down and scrawled in the sand quickly. Fitz's eyes widened for a moment as he watched her, then looked down at what she'd written. Olivia stood then, backing a couple feet away from him. "Rain check? Tomorrow?"

He nodded, watching her wave goodbye. As she put a few feet between them, he called out, "Sunset?"

Olivia nodded, her smile making his heart thump a little harder. "Sunset. Good night, _Fitzgerald _Grant _(chuckles)_."

Raising his hand, he saw her turn away to start jogging down the beach back toward her house, which he could just make out by the lights a little over a mile away. Once she was out of hearing range, he answered, "Good night Olivia…_Lewis_."

**It didn't take him nearly as long as he thought **to get back to his house. Along the way, Fitz's thoughts kept returning to Olivia, and he kept asking himself just what he thought he was doing.

_Trying to spend more time with her, that's what. _He shook his head, running a hand through it roughly in his conflicted thoughts. After yet another conversation, he was really no closer to determining just how much she knew. His gut was telling him one thing, but his conscience wanted to believe something else.

"You're playing with fire," he muttered to himself, finally coming up to the back steps on the property. He was only a few tentative feet away from the back door, when a familiar scent wafted up to him on the wind. A short sigh of anger tumbled from his lips, before he made himself calm down.

As he came upon the house, a dark figure slowly rose from the back porch railing, where she'd evidently been waiting for him quite some time.

"What are you doing here?" he wasn't even trying to hid his displeasure as he stopped cold in front of her, his arms down at his sides but his hands balled into fists.

With a soft, but stern expression, Mellie said simply, "I came to talk to you…about Karen."

_I hope you all had a great Valentine's Day – or at least a better one than me! I've gotten the joy of spending this year's with a Strep Throat – yuck! _

_Hm! Rowan is leaving Olivia the school and Marcella is all too excited that Jake's chance at Olivia may have been forever destroyed thanks to her new 'mystery' man. And then Fitz…using Maya's maiden name…I wonder what that could all mean! What do you guys think?_

_Thank you freckled98, kelleekellkell, LoreneMichelle41, noro, and valkel00! - Mae _


	12. Chapter 12

**Something New, part 2**

**A Summer of Sunsets **

_Chapter 11: "Something New, pt. 2"_

**Southampton, Long Island**

**July 4****th****, 2004**

**8:25 p.m.**

She couldn't believe just how quickly his mood had changed. As far away as fifty yards, Mellie could see her ex-husband's almost happy disposition; his smile was radiant, until he was close enough to make out her figure. In the back of her mind, Mellie had wanted to ask him just what had him in such a good mood, but knew by the way he was staring her down right then that probably wasn't such a hot idea.

She'd seen the dangerous turn in his eyes the moment she'd said their daughter's name. His posture had even changed. Most important; however, was the way he was looking at her now; it wasn't necessarily angry…'hurt' would've been the first word to come to her mind.

"Does _Droopy Eye _know you're here?" Fitz walked past her to the back door, taking out his keys.

Mellie's eyes followed him, narrowing at his unsympathetic jibe at her boyfriend. Andrew's complete disregard for his health had led to a stroke the previous year – leaving him with limited control of the left side of his face. It was still a sore spot for Andrew; one Fitz exploited time again, after learning of their emotional affair during the latter stages of his marriage to Mellie.

Choosing to side-step his rude greeting, Mellie replied, "I don't have to clear everything I do with Andrew, Fitz. Besides, this has nothing to do with him."

With a sore chuckle, Fitz roughly swung the door open, but didn't step in as he turned his head to her. "I'll take that as a 'no'."

She took a step to follow him in, but he didn't move, making it clear that he didn't want her inside. "Fitz, please…just for _one night_ can we please be civil?"

He hated himself for beginning to melt, but the look she passed his way read 'important', and Fitz had to admit he was at least a little curious why she'd shown up at his doorstep after almost a month. They hadn't parted on the best of terms in the least, and Fitz had thought he'd made himself clear that her kind of 'help' wasn't warranted and certainly not wanted.

With a low, agitated groan, he dropped his shoulders and turned away from her, heading into the house. Behind him, Mellie's eyes brightened just a little that he hadn't out-right refused, and followed him through the door. She was secretly thinking whatever it was he'd been up to before she came; whatever it was, she hoped he'd keep it up.

"So, what do you want?" he tossed his house keys on the kitchen island countertop, going straight to the fridge for a beer.

"I…_(sigh), _you know it's getting close to That Time."

Fitz popped open the bottle with one hand, tossing the cap to the counter. He watched her, but didn't respond.

Standing on the other side of the counter, Mellie tried to get some feel of where his emotional state was concerning their daughter, but he wasn't giving anything away. His facial expression remained blank. Fitz had always been hard to 'read', and the few times he had spoken to her about his emotions had proved a costly mistake, even she would admit, so Mellie tread with much caution.

"Don't."

She was shaken from her concentration as she looked up at him, mildly embarrassed that she'd been that transparent. She was still honing her skills – she hadn't decided to become a psychologist until much later in life, finally putting her degree to use. Unfortunately, Fitz had been her willing (and then _unwilling_) guinea pig for a while. "Fitz, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

He only snorted, gulping down the brew like it was water.

"I just…" She looked around the kitchen as if the proper explanation for her attempt at analyzing him lay within the cabinetry. "…I'm worried about you."

"_Don't._" He wiped a dribble of beer from his chin, then elaborated, "It's a little late for that, you think?"

"No," she pressed past his hurt and mistrust; she'd done it once, why not twice? "As a matter of fact, I don't. I'll always worry about you, Fitz. Even with the way things turned out…between us, we still share something special. Even if she isn't with us any longer."

He began to get uncomfortable, and she could tell. His body seemed suddenly tense, and his eyes looked anywhere in the room other than in her direction. Mellie knew to expect this; she'd seen much worse from him…

"I don't want to go into this right now…and especially not with you." He set the bottle down on the counter between them. "So, if you didn't come to talk about anything else…"

She sighed, realizing that the door of opportunity had closed swiftly. Taking a few tentative steps forward, she held out a hand, letting him see she meant no harm. Softly, she whispered, "Fitz, it's been almost a year to the day. I know you're still in pain. I am too. But you can't keep on like this. All of your unresolved issues w –"

"_Unresolved issues_?" he scoffed, taking a small step back. "Is that what she is to you? My 'unresolved issue'?"

"_Listen _to me –"

"No, Mellie, you listen. If this is some lame attempt to get me back on the couch so you can poke around some more – fuck it." Fitz tried to get his heartrate to calm a little, but the deeper they got into this conversation, the antsier he was getting. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and all kinds of unpleasant images reared their ugly little heads, reminding him of their failed marriage, and the door upstairs he still couldn't bring himself to open.

She stopped her forward momentum, a disappointed expression passing over her face. She knew deep down that she should press the issue; for his own sake more than hers. But Fitz wasn't going to make things easy. His defense mechanisms were fighting her every step of the way. Gathering herself together, she decided that maybe this wasn't the best time to do this; Fitz had obviously been surprised by her presence, and she knew that had automatically raised every wall in his arsenal. "Fine, Fitz…"

Heading back toward the door, she paused just a moment to regard him. "…you know, when I saw you come up from the beach, I thought maybe, just for a minute, that I hadn't made a mistake in coming here like this. You almost looked…well, like you weren't carrying the troubles of the world so much. It was nice to see you like that…"

His only answer was silence, as she quietly closed the door behind her. Alone, Fitz slowly shook his head, wondering when his ex was going to get the picture that she couldn't _fix_ things this time. Still watching the door, his expression suddenly softened, and he exhaled audibly. Somewhere deep down, he knew this was her way of saying she still cared, and that she was sorry for everything that went down between them, but even if Fitz was ready to forgive her that, he was terrified of letting her back into his head – of taking a seat on her little black couch again. There weren't many things in this world that frightened Fitzgerald Grant, but _that_ was certainly one.

Running a hand through messy hair, he turned away from the door, and then stopped, as if he'd just heard her last remark. It reminded him of something, and he shuffled through the messy drawers of the kitchen for several moments before he found what he was looking for.

Scribbling furiously before he managed to forget, Fitz took the post-it note and went to the fridge, where he stuck it beneath a magnet. Stepping back, he remembered the magnet had been one of his daughter's favorites: a little memento from a family trip to Disney World.

Smiling sadly, he reached up and touched the grinning faces of The Little Mermaid and her handsome prince. His fingers hovered above the piece of paper he'd placed there, and his thoughts shifted as he thought about just how long he'd wait before dialing that number he'd scrawled on it…if he should dial it at all.

**Pope Estate**

**Later that night…**

After an exciting night out at Liberty Island, Rowan and his guests returned to the estate in high spirits. Most of the younger ones settled into the built-in movie theater downstairs for a late night of action flicks, while some of the older guests either retired, or in most cases, regrouped – ready to paint the Island red at local clubs.

Lena made sure that Rowan had settled in before she took off for the night, telling everyone she had a mountain of paperwork to greet her after the holiday. Only she and Rowan knew of Lena's secret little project; a favor to Rowan on behalf of one he loved…

Standing in the doorway to the home theater room, Olivia watched the younger students of her father's school as they tried to vote democratically on which movie to watch. She chuckled, watching Quinn lobby for her current favorite movie star, Brad Pitt.

"That girl can talk you into anything, can't she?"

Olivia refused to let her smile falter, even as she felt Jake standing close behind her. He'd been pretty much attached to her hip the entire night, but they'd managed to get along pretty well. It was getting late, however, and Olivia's understanding mood was wearing thin with her increased fatigue. "Yeah, looks like it's going to be rock-hard abs and sexy dimples tonight."

He chuckled a little at her dry wit, following her with his eyes as she turned away from the door to head toward the stairs. She didn't sigh out loud upon hearing his footfalls behind her; she didn't even turn around, reaching out to grasp the railing as she headed for bed.

"Liv?"

Slowing just a bit, she barely turned her head as Jake looked up at her from the base of the stairs. "Jake, I'm a little tired. Whatever it is, can it wait till morning?"

He grinned boyishly at her, ready to pick up their emotional dance around each other once more. He'd been feeling pretty lucky since their trip to the Statue earlier, where they'd watched the fireworks together. Easily closing the distance between them, he offered, "Sure. I'll walk you up, then."

She knew it couldn't have been that easy.

Most of the way up they made only occasional small talk; Jake contributing about eighty-five percent of that. When they reached the door leading to the top floor room, Olivia turned to him with a somewhat forced smile, and said, "Well, good night Jake."

He smiled, but didn't walk away. Jake took his hands out of his pockets and leaned against the side of her door, watching her. "It was, wasn't it?"

She didn't like that look in his eyes. "Jake, I…"

"Wait…" He leaned up, and after a quick look around to make sure they were alone, he continued, "…Olivia, it's been great seeing you again. _More_ than great, actually. It got me to thinking –"

"Jake, I don't think – "

" – about how things used to be. You know, before."

She squeezed the doorknob, wishing desperately that she was anywhere but there right then. Olivia finally realized that what she needed most was to face this head on. Turning to him, she set her eyes firmly, her shoulders squared. "Jake, I know we've been getting along much better than when we last saw one another, but that doesn't mean anything's changed."

"Doesn't it?" He placed an arm on the wall beside her, completely in her personal space, and gazed down at her with an expression that spoke volumes. "I tried to tell you how I felt in my letters."

"I never read any of them."

"I know. And you shouldn't have had to. That's why I came back this time. To tell you in person what I should have a long time ago." He was hypnotizing her with his stare, as he drew in closer, his voice barely a whisper.

Olivia knew she should be stopping him, telling him that this wasn't the right time, place or _anything_ for this. But there was a part of her that hung onto the pain and embarrassment of their childhood, that still wanted to know why he'd hurt her so, and if he was even sorry for it.

Leaning in quickly, his lips parted just barely as his eyes closed.

"Egh." Olivia's hand shot up just in time, her index finger covering his pouting lips and finally pushing him back.

Confused, Jake opened his eyes to question her. "Liv -?"

"No, Jake, don't 'Liv' me. Look it's time you realize that the past can't be changed. No matter how many times you try to rewrite it for me."

His look was confused, as he sputtered. "But – but –"

"And there isn't a future, here. No matter how many times you try to convince me otherwise."

His lips formed a hard line at her tone. "You don't mean that; you're feeling this too."

"…_Good night,_ Jake." She pulled on her teacher's mask, acknowledging him with no more familiarity than one of her underage students, and pushed her door open, sliding in and closing it soundly in his face.

**The next morning was uncharacteristically quite **in the main house, as most of the guests slept in after a late night. Of course, Rowan had been an early riser – he usually was anyway – and he and Olivia had had a lot to discuss over a quiet breakfast.

For most of the day afterwards, she found herself immersed in preliminary leg work for her new job at the Westchester school, going over end of term progress reports, deciding what kind of courses she'd like to see added to the current curriculum and other administrative nonsense. Despite the heavy workload, Olivia found herself completely excited and anticipating the new school year.

Sitting on her bed surrounded by file folders, books and ledgers, she'd been at it for several hours, only stopping for a small break when a bleary-eyed but excited Marcella had interrupted to gossip about her late night with Tristan in the city.

Thinking about it now, as the afternoon grew older, she smiled' it was good to see Marcella less hung up on Nathan these days and actually enjoying life again.

_BzzzBzzzBzzz_

She jumped slightly, turning to the side of the bed where her cell phone danced across the wood surface of her nightstand. Reaching over to get it, she almost fell off the bed, laying out a hand to brace herself against the floor before the rest of her body followed. Flipping open the clamshell, she raised it to her ear, still half hanging over the bed, giggling at the picture she made. "Hello?"

"…Hey, Olivia?" Her heart skipped a beat, her eyes going a little wider. "It's Fitz."

Going still, she looked up into space, her hair falling into her eyes as she listened to the quiet uncertainty behind his words. Almost as if he'd been surprised she picked up. "Fitz."

"Hope you don't mind me calling…you're not in the middle of something are you? I can call back."

She almost didn't catch that flurry of words, smiling in some surprise at his sense of trepidation. "No, not at all…I'm glad to hear from you, actually."

His voice seemed a bit more confident, as he chuckled a little and continued, "Yeah? Well, I was wondering if you had any plans tonight."

Holding her breath, Olivia didn't realize she hadn't moved from her precarious position, as she pressed the phone to her ear. "Plans? No, not really. What did you have in mind?"

"That rain check from last night. You game?" His voice teased her.

"I wouldn't know the first thing about riding a motorcycle, Fitz."

"That's alright," he replied easily enough, "I'll be there to catch you if you fall."

She thought she had to have imagine the underlying tone beneath those words. With a smile, she agreed, "Well then. I guess I'll have no choice but to put my life in your hands."

There was a weird, but slight pause on his end of the phone, before Fitz murmured, "Deal. Meet me at my place. You know when."

After he'd hung up the phone, Fitz sat in his living room, trying to figure out exactly what he was doing. It was more than simply playing with fire, he now chastised himself. _'Be a man about it…'_ he thought, still holding the cordless phone absently against its cradle. No matter how he turned it, Fitz knew he was more than just curious about the woman.

Shaking his head to clear such thoughts, he reminded himself of their connection, of his chosen profession, of his…'problems'; all good reasons why he shouldn't have just called her. _'Jesus, it's ONE night, not a proposal, you ass.'_

Finally releasing the phone, Fitz got up, heading upstairs to the private bathroom where he took the next forty-five minutes getting ready.

**It had been slightly difficult for Olivia **to slip out of the main house, but she'd managed it after distracting as many as four different people who'd caught her on her way to the back patio. She wasn't ready to tell anyone else about Fitz, simply for the fact that she didn't really know what they were doing yet. Were they just acquaintances on the way to becoming friends, or was this a date?

That question ate at her mind all the walk down the beach toward his house. She'd chosen to walk rather than ask one of the chauffeurs for a ride, all in the name of being discreet. One watchful eye and two loose lips later, and the whole house would be talking.

Alone with her thoughts, she turned to the darkening skyline, watching the late afternoon colors blend into a blue backdrop. She always thought sunsets in the Southampton were a well-kept secret among locals. Memories of watching them as a child hovered just beneath the surface of her thoughts. Those early days that she could barely recall once Rowan had brought her back to the States; July out at the Pope family summer home was a strong memory…one of a few pleasant ones from her early childhood she could recall.

Running a hand over her hair as long locks waved in the sea breeze, she focused on the quickly approaching image of Fitz's house. It was still a good one hundred yards off, but she saw a figure suddenly emerge from the rear of the house, and begin to come down the steps. Unable to help herself, Olivia could feel her nervousness factor rise exponentially, realizing that she was under his visual scrutiny already.

When they finally came to each other, she discovered how right she was. Fitz gave her an appreciative once-over, his blue eyes sparkling with a devilish delight as he took her in. She wore a Victoria's Secret Embellished wrap top in the same color as his stunning eyes and a white pair of stretchy topstitched London jeans. Her feet were secure in bright white tennis and her only piece of jewelry was a single polished gold bracelet that accentuated her slender wrists.

He grinned, despite himself, loving the way her clothes fit like they were tailor made. Her long tresses were only slightly kept intact by a loose ponytail at the small of her back; several locks had easily escaped, he noticed, on her walk down and waved at him.

"Hi." Her voice was rich but held a small hint of nervous energy.

His eyes lifted to hers, his gaze caressing her soft-looking chocolate skin. "Hey. You look…"

"Over-dressed? Would a tee and shorts have been better?"

"I was going to say 'stunning'. But then, you'd probably still look that way in a shirt and shorts." He couldn't believe he'd just said that, and then when he felt his face redden at her shy smile, he _really _felt like punching himself.

"Thank you." Olivia admired his rugged attractiveness wrapped in a sense of careful abandon in jet-black jeans, a carpenter's button-down shirt and a light-weight leather jacket he wore mostly for riding. His hair was messy as always, but she found it handsome on him. He was barefoot and she looked down to see his toes squeezing the white sand beneath them. "Don't tell me you ride shoeless?"

He chuckled, looking down at his feet. "Nah. I left my boots on the porch. Come on."

Olivia followed as Fitz led the way back up to his place, and then paused briefly while he shoved his bare feet into a well-worn pair of Laredo Brracudas, before he took her around the side of the main house where the two-car garage was. There was only one car – a black Jeep Wrangler – and beside it the only inanimate thing that had really helped Fitz escape his demons living in the house.

Walking ahead of Olivia a bit, he smiled wistfully as his fingers reached out to caress the custom-made Vulcan Classic. He turned when he heard her snicker a little, and he questioned, "What?"

Shrugging, Olivia pointed to the motorcycle. "You just look like you are saying 'hello' to an old friend. Men and their toys."

He grinned, but shook his head. "Actually, I guess I was. I spent a long time building this thing from scratch. Can't a man take pride in his work?"

She rolled her eyes, stepping up beside him to examine the formidable beast. She'd never ridden a 'hog' before, and wondered if this night was the right time to change that. Seeing the cautious way she was eyeing his bike, Fitz reached out and touched her hand, his fingers curling around the inside of her palm as he held on and pulled her closer. "Here, it isn't going to bite."

Without a word, she came, standing very close to his side, their hands still clasped. Fitz showed her how to mount the seat, and she settled in the natural groove of the hard leather, unsure where to place her hands. Amused at her naivety, Fitz took a moment to admire her beautiful form on his prized machine, before he moved to sit in front of her. As he began the steps to start the bike up, he turned to her, motioning to the helmet hanging on the back.

"At least until you get used to it, better wear that."

Failing to notice his initial comment, she grabbed the black, shiny helmet but raised questioning eyes to him. "What about you?"

"Don't worry. I have a hard head." Just as he said that, the bike purred to life, a loud rumbling sound that Olivia could feel in her bones as she wrapped her ponytail around itself tightly and set the helmet on her head. She opened the dark visor to peer out at him, smiling as a sense of pure exhilaration coursed through her body.

When Fitz popped the kickstand off, the shift in weight was awkward for her, and she instinctively gripped his jacket, just above his waistline. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not." He moved one hand away from the handlebars to touch hers, pressing her hand against his ribs before he turned his attention back to the controls.

Olivia was both uncomfortable and elated at their close proximity; the situation warranted sitting close, but she hadn't expected to be _this _close. Trying desperately not to notice his strong, muscled body against her, Olivia focused on the slowly moving motorcycle as Fitz maneuvered it toward the open garage doors.

When he got to the threshold, he leaned back a little to turn to her, and was momentarily distracted by the scent of her perfume and the soft pillow of her breasts against his back, before he called out, "Hold on tight."

It was his only warning as they leapt from the back of the house, around the winding drive, toward the front and the narrow road leading to the street above.

**They probably rode Route 27 for a good two hours **before Olivia indicated that she was tiring out. Fitz took pity on her, inwardly impressed with her stamina, and headed back. She'd been a real trooper in his opinion, only drawing the line at handling the monster bike herself. When he teased her reluctance, she left the door open for him to change her mind, albeit later.

As the Vulcan rumbled back into its place in Fitz's garage, he was surprised to feel a sense of disappointment that their ride was over. Though they hadn't talked much at all on the ride, he could sense her excitement in a new experience, and could tell she had enjoyed herself as she leaned into him a little, her body melding perfectly against his back, her arms tightly wound about his torso. Her delicate hand had rested for a time against his chest, as if she could feel the adrenaline pumping through his blood and quickening his heart.

Shutting the bike down, Fitz sat there for a moment before turning to glance behind him. His expression was a question.

Pulling the helmet off, Olivia returned his gaze, her hair cascading down. Holding the helmet in her lap between them, she smiled at him, her own adrenaline rush just coming down. "That was…was…"

"Fantastic," they breathed simultaneously, and chuckled. Fitz had never really taken anyone out on the Vulcan before, not even Mellie, who'd refused to even sit on it, much less ride it, and Karen had been too young…

Olivia peered at him, her face showing curiosity at his suddenly wistful expression. Before she could question it, it was gone, and he moved, the leather of his jacket creaking as he slid it off of the seat. Standing before her, he helped her off the bike, and started walking toward the door, their hands still clasped for a moment before he let go.

Following, Olivia tried to hide the goofy look she knew she was wearing, running a self-conscious hand through her tussled hair. She hadn't expected their ride to be so much fun, or to have her attraction to this mysterious man so blatantly manifested as she watched his back, the way he moved, and his tight little ass that looked just right in those jeans.

"Olivia?"

She looked up, more than a little startled from her thoughts as her eyes met Fitz's. It occurred to her that he'd been trying to get her attention after she'd failed to answer his question.

"Pardon?"

"Something to drink? Water, beer…well, that's pretty much it," He said thoughtfully, offering her a seat on the back patio while he leaned against the railing.

Laughing at his evident surprise of his lack of refreshments, she responded, "Beer is fine."

He didn't even hide his surprise, but didn't say a word as he went inside. While she heard his movements echo out from the short foyer, Olivia looked out from the covered patio to the gently crashing surf, admiring the view. It seemed less restrained, more natural than that of her father's; the manicured lawns of the Pope estate were beautiful, to be sure, but in Olivia's eyes lacked something of the spontaneity of Mother Nature's hand.

"You've got quite a view." She commented, accepting the cold bottle.

"Yeah." Fitz turned to stare out at the beach, his expression hard to decipher. He couldn't remember the last time he actually looked at his property and could appreciate it for what it was. For a brief moment he envied her that.

"You know, this is usually the part where you tell me a little more about yourself." She watched him half-lean, half-sit against the rail across from her. His gaze shifted – in discomfort? – before it landed on her again, and he took his time lighting a thick cigar.

"What do you want to know, darling?"

His cryptic tone sort of took her off guard, but Olivia forged ahead anyway. "Well, first I guess…where are you from?"

"I was born in Maryland. Raised in Frederiksted."

"Ah," her eyes brightened, "My mother wasn't from the U.S. Do you like it here?"

He looked at her as if he didn't fully understand the question, then chuckled. Olivia's expression changed just a little, and he replied, "Nothing. Just feel a little like I'm on a job interview or something."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She looked down at the bottle in her hands, as an odd silence passed between them. After a few moments, she looked up when she felt his presence next to her; Fitz sat down close beside her on the cushioned bench, his head tilted a little as he watched her.

"It's alright. I'm just not used to so many questions…about my past. It's not something I like to talk about, truth be told." He kept eye contact, his clear blue eyes telling her a lot with that statement.

"Does that have something to do with your job?" she asked tentatively.

"Why would you ask that?"

"I don't know…" She searched his eyes, realizing just then how close their faces were to each other. "…there's something in the way you said that. I don't know."

His eyes lowered when she suddenly dropped her gaze, as if their searing eye contact had scorched her like the sun. Feeling a little guilty for making her uncomfortable, Fitz leaned a little closer, his cigar switching hands before he reached up and touched the soft curve of her jaw, lifting her eyes to his again. "The answer's yes…"

His breath barely whispered against her cheek as they sat there, completely tranquilized by each other. With his fingers still light against her face, Fitz watched her eyes, then her mouth, as she struggled with words. He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt in places he wasn't supposed to be thinking about right then.

_It's so strange_

_How my life's changed_

_I know nothing_

_About the people that I touched_

_Heard a story_

_It sounded easy_

_If you don't care_

_Then you're lying through your teeth_

Her eyes gave him the answer to his unasked question, but still Fitz hesitated. Later she would be unsure whether it had been a sudden burst of self-confidence or the strong German beer clutched in her hands that propelled Olivia forward – emotionally _and _physically.

_I was shook up_

_Intoxicated _

_Drank the juices_

_Of the possibilities _

_I'm so alive…_

Lips touched gently but eagerly, sending a very mild current down Fitz's body; it only seemed to heighten his excitement, but he pulled away just barely to whisper a chuckle against her lips.

_If you told me_

_Nothing's perfect_

_Hearts are broken_

_Nothing's free_

_I could show you_

_Why it's worth it_

_That's the way that it's meant to be_

Her hands gripped the edges of his worn leather jacket as their mouths continued an intricate dance to the tune of wet, hot kisses. Her mind was reeling, her heart was pounding, and when she heard a soft, deep rumble from his throat a shutter coursed through her limbs to a sweet spot she knew _she _shouldn't have been thinking about right then.

_Heard a story_

_It sounded easy_

_Got a new skin and_

_I'm lying through my teeth_

_I was shook up_

_Intoxicated _

_I drank the juices of the possibilities _

As the magic faded for a breath, they simultaneously opened their eyes, seeing each other a little differently. All kinds of improper thoughts for a schoolteacher floated through Olivia's mind as she watched him briefly lick his lips, staring at her. A mutual hunger was obvious to both of them; the only question was what they were going to do about it.

_Of the possibilities…_

_Well, I'm back! A broken arm, and some family issues, kept me away for a few months, but now I'm back and ready to continue posting this story, before unveiling my next Olitz work. We've got 17 more chapters left – we're almost half-way through this. Just a little heads up as well, next chapter is very __**M**__ rated. - Mae_


	13. Chapter 13

**Something New, part 3**

**A Summer of Sunsets**

_Chapter 11: "Something New, pt. 3"_

**Sometime After Midnight…**

She didn't know her way about the house, so of course he'd had to guide their already fumbling movements. Even still, they knocked several things over in their passionate haste – what, exactly, Fitz cared not.

Halfway into the living room, he stopped her from backing up toward a staircase. "Too far," was all he breathed against her mouth, as his hands held her close to his body.

In answer, Olivia's hands pulled down hard on the leather of his jacket, and it fell to their feet with little resistance. His shirt was next, and she smiled, pleased at the muscles that reached out even now toward her. She felt his tight biceps nearly crush her to his chest, his hands roving over her back like the man was trying to envelop her.

She could smell masculine arousal all around her, breathing deeply against the side of his face as Fitz's tongue seared the flesh just beneath her ear, and his sharp teeth nibbled on the sensitive skin of her neck. He moaned again, much like he had on the back patio, and it sent a spiral of arousal straight through her to the pit of her stomach.

For a brief moment, his hands subsided, and he leaned away from her, eyes hooded and a darker blue than she remembered, as he watched her. It was a look of pure hunger she saw there, and it was echoed in her reflection within his pupils.

Moving away from her, he held her hand, and eventually she was pulled forward, following him to the soft cushions of one of the large couches. He was careful to lay her back against the pillows, then hovered over her, his fists digging into the pliable fabric at either side of her head.

From her vantage, Olivia had an excellent view of his muscled torso, and her eyes traveled of their own accord down from his pectorals to the tight six-pack and couldn't stop even when the beginnings of his 'happy trail' winked at her from the top of his buttoned jeans.

Fitz grunted in some surprise when he felt her fingers curl into the top of his pants, an index finger tugging gently at the silver button. In response, he lifted one hand to her face, a ghost of a caress against her cheek, then her neck and continued to the V of her shirt. He stopped just above the rise and fall of cleavage, his eyes coming up to meet hers.

Continuing their tit for tat game, Olivia popped the top button of the jeans open; Fitz's hand slid around the curve of her left breast down to the diamond-shaped, beaded applique that covered the shirt's single button and expert fingers loosened the material in less time than it took to describe the motion.

He didn't open the shirt flap immediately, however; Fitz watched the rise and fall of her chest quicken just a bit in the anticipation of his move, and his own arousal heightened in the process.

Reaching out, Olivia pulled herself up to a kneeling position using his arm, and Fitz settled back on his as well as he waited for her next move. Almost at the same eye level, she grinned at him, pulling his pelvis against hers by the top of his open fly jeans. She had seen the still growing bulge just off to the left side, and everything feminine in her wanted to expose it.

Fitz watched her silently, his eyes shielded by a few errant strands of brown hair. He had a perfect view of her cleavage now, and that fact only made him harder. Before Olivia could further explore that zipper, he grabbed her hand, bringing her wrist up to his lips, where he placed tiny nibbling kisses down the inside length of her forearm. His eyes held hers as his other hand carefully reached into the folded collapse of her shirt and briefly swept by the underside of one breast before snaking around her waist, pulling her against him.

He kissed her lips again, a deep, penetrating motion like it had been the first time. Olivia's arms wound about his neck tightly, her exposed breasts pressed firmly to his chest.

After that, clothes seemed to melt away like butter on a warm afternoon. Lying back against the arm of the couch, Olivia didn't feel self-conscious at all in his presence, even as he openly appreciated her body's beauty. Tilting her head back, she sighed at the hot wet feeling of his mouth on her skin. Settling over her, Fitz's body was warm, and he wrapped his arms beneath her, stroking her back, then her side before his hand cupped one bare cheek.

A sharp sigh dissolved into an intense moan when his tongue curled around the peak of her breast. Fitz's intense attention made her squirm, but she arched her body, moving closer, and held his head to her chest in the utmost approval, begging for more.

As foreplay lingered, all she could feel was the hot throbbing between her thighs; it was uncomfortable at first in its intensity, but eventually subsided to a series of warm waves that crashed every time he touched her. After a prolonged exploration, she searched his eyes, about to beg him to put her torture at its end, when he shifted his body, arching upwards just slightly, his face still close to her ear.

"_Good Morning! W-ALK 97.5 FM –"_

Olivia blinked, her face contorting, looking up there was nothing there, only ceiling. In her room.

Sitting up quickly, she turned to the side, swatting the radio beside the bed as the DJ continued on in his chipper voice. She almost grabbed the intrusive device to sail it across the room, but thought better of that. Sitting back against the sweat-soaked pillows behind her, Olivia tried to calm her pounding hear and the still tingling sensation between her legs.

For the briefest moment, just before she was fully awake, Olivia had been unsure whether it was a dream or not. Hugging one of her pillows, she looked toward the dawning light outside from the terrace and admitted that she wished it had not been.

A little disoriented, and with legs that still felt like Jell-O, Liv disappeared into the bathroom…for a long, cold shower.

**Downstairs in the larger study,** Rowan wheeled a little closer to Lena, who stood near the wide desk at the room's center. Her expression was slightly pensive, but she remained quiet for a moment, turning a little to direct her attention to the door, which appeared to be locked.

"Rowan, are you sure this is the same man? Can it be possible?" Lena shifted through the papers inside the long manila envelope, as if going through them again for the umpteenth time was going to garner different conclusions.

Perching his hands before his lips, Rowan stared into space for a long moment, his mind traveling back almost a quarter century to memories he hadn't seen fit to visit in quite some time. He had to focus deliberately on the images inside his head…he _had_ to be sure it was, indeed, Him. "I realize the chance of coincidence is astounding. But I'm sure of it. Olivia's descriptions aside, I knew…"

"You said you found out shortly after they moved here several years ago." Lena stopped riffling through the papers.

Rowan nodded, glancing toward the door once as he heard a small group of his guests pass by. Once he was sure they had gone, he turned his attention back to Lena. "I needed you to confirm it, but yes, I've suspected the two men were one and the same. I just can't believe Olivia ran into him like that."

"Does he know?"

"He knows…" Rowan said quietly, sighing audibly before he raised his eyes to Lena's again.

"Why wouldn't he say anything?"

"…Because I asked him not to."

**A Couple of Hours Later, **Olivia opened the terrace doors beyond her bedroom, going outside to the patio where she sat in a cushioned wicker chair, absorbing the warm early morning sunlight. Folding her thick, soft bathrobe around her legs, she laid back against the headrest, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. Immediately, gently, blurry images of her dream from the night before came rushing back, and she had to literally shake her head to clear it. Chuckling to herself, she couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a vividly sexual dream. The mere thought of it sent a pleasurable current down the core of her body.

'_I feel like I'm sixteen again.' _She admonished herself, watching the surf as it rolled in. Her thoughts had stayed with Fitz all morning, and the night they'd spent on their 'non-date' – if she could really call it that at all now. The lingering kisses that still had her lips tingling (and other places, too) called what they did something else, but Olivia was cautious not to jump the gun. She could tell there was something about himself that Fitz was keeping from her. Even though they'd spent another couple hours after their kisses just talking on his back porch she realized just how little he'd actually told her.

At the time it had not even bothered her, as she sat reclining in his embrace, telling him about her father's school and discussing the plight of the citizens of Swyndell, but now she wondered why he had done most of the listening between them. She knew he was in the military – he'd told her that much. He also mentioned being at the end of an extended leave, and seemed to look forward to going back to his post. She had no clue which branch he belonged to, or what base he was stationed out of or even why he was on such a long leave (exactly _how long_, he didn't disclose).

Laughing out loud, Olivia realized she hadn't even seen the inside of his house past the garage. "Well, I guess there's something to be said for a little mystery in a relationship."

Catching her breath, she lifted a brow, turning toward the west and thinking, _'Is that what this is? The beginning of a relationship?'_

**Down the beach at that moment, **Fitz shook the water out of his hair, tossing a hand towel over his spiky head as he padded into the kitchen on bare feet. Grabbing a skillet from the hanging pot rack over the center counter, he set the range on and went for the fridge and his morning bottle of beer.

As he began to prepare a breakfast of scrambled eggs, maple sausage, ham and southern-style hash browns, his movements were automatic. His _thoughts_ were anything but. Most of the night after she'd left, he had remained awake, sitting on the bench where they'd settled after the motorcycle ride. Fitz had been painfully aware of the empty space she'd left beside him; her aura in the form of her unique scent sat at his side, reminding him of her soft, lithe body as she'd leaned into his arms. Even after he finally moved back into the house, he'd paced the downstairs study for another few hours, smoking in the time it took him to question every single thing he'd done that day with her. And a couple things he had not, but wished he had.

Stirring the eggs absently, Fitz turned just a little to glance at the phone number that was still magnetically adhered to his refrigerator door. He had to acknowledge that initial curiosity was assuaged; everything that transpired after this point was completely his doing.

Standing there in an old pair of USMC sweat pants and the small towel over his head, Fitz couldn't help but reminisce about the silken feel of her hair, the gentle caress of her hands on his face, and who could forget **those** lips – soft as velvet and full as a new moon…? _Whoa, man_. He glanced downward momentarily, smirking as he tried – somewhat in vain – to quell those sorts of memories and the uninhibited thoughts they provoked. He had already become painfully aware of just how long it'd been since those sorts of feelings had manifested themselves…

Setting his plate down on the island counter, Fitz chugged the second bottle of beer, and dug into his breakfast, momentarily distracted by the cool morning breeze from the beach as it came in from the open door of the nearby foyer. Even then, only a few seconds passed before he thought of her again; it seemed that everything around him was bringing memories of Olivia Pope back to him. With a cautiously wistful expression, he began to think maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

_I felt bad about not updating for such a long time, so here is a 'bonus' chapter this week, if you can really call it that. Enjoy and if I don't get to post again before the thirty-first, Happy Halloween! - Mae_

_Guest: It's not that strange - you seem to have found my very **first **fanfiction account. RoLo were my first love, and the first ship I ever supported. Sadly, the Realm doesn't get the support it used to these days and, with the lackluster newer movies, I have slowly begun to loose my once undying faith in those two. Olitz were the first couple since RoLo that I truly fell in love with and I decided to rewrite my original __fic for these two with the intention of actually **finishing** the sequel this go around. I hope that if you decided to read the entire original piece, it didn't ruin this one for you! There will be slight changes, but for the most part, this one is just a rewrite._

**_Side Note: _**_Anyone who wants to read my original with RoLo (if you do not know who that is, then you most likely wouldn't want to read), PM me and I will provide the link, but I wouldn't suggest it until we have **finished **this version unless you want that extra spoiler. :) _


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